


D-16

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Politics, Religion, Senate - Freeform, TFP AU, arranged bond, caste system, meddling deity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6127216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus Prime has a lot of visions from the Matrix and tries to make them into reality, to make Cybertron better. Some succeeds, some not. But when a particular vision tells him how to avoid an eons long civil war that would end with their race in extinction - then he decides that no matter how strange or hard it is, he will make it so. Anything but those visions of energon-soaked battles and dead planet. Anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Though the fic is marked as TFP, I always mix a little G1 mood/feel/looks/mecha into it - but it is an AU since Optimus is Prime way before the usual, before Megatron gains a name and becomes a revolutionary or a poet, so there's that. There will be also characters from other verses too, to avoid using a lot of OCs.

The pickaxe hit the wall, threw some sparks and broke off the recalcitrant chunk of rocks he was fighting with for several breems by now. In the weak light of the mine-shaft the broken surface of the rocks glowed with inner fire, a dim, bluish-green, unusual for this part of the mine, for this type of strata. D-16 knew rocks better than any of the others in his clade – they were all onlined with such knowledge, but he was still better at applying it than most. This type of crystal was not often found near energon-bearing layers, so its presence might mean that the tunnel they were working in was nearing exhaustion. 

The miner threw the rocks into a separate cart from the ones intended for energon crystals and returned to the wall. Marking the place on the wall with a fluorescent glyph he moved on, seeking the telltale purple flickers of energon. He was behind his quota and much as the blue-green crystal would be interesting, he didn’t have time to call the supervisor and show it to him. Maybe at the end of his shift… which was why he marked the wall with one of the four glyphs he knew, the one for ‘ _unknown/significant_ ’ before moving on in the tunnel.

Quite a few meters from it he found the discoloration on the wall he was looking for and started to work out the shape of the energon bubble with pickaxe and occasionally chisel or his bare servos. The less damaged, it would be worth more, so he was careful not to hit the volatile, purple crystals directly. Halfway through his work he looked up and gruffly nodded as D-15 joined the other side of the find when it grew too big for one miner to handle. Together they spent most of the shift to carefully work out the crystals from the wall and load them onto the carts marked with their IDs. Fulfilling the ornly quota was absolutely necessary these vorns.

When they started in the mine as young, beginner miners, it was not so, D-16 remembered suddenly as he straightened up from the loaded cart. Those orns, way back they had time to have some breaks in the heavy work, they had energy to chat, for the elder miners to teach the newbies, to discuss life and… D-16 stopped for a klik, frowning under his heavy helm. They didn’t have quotas to fill back then. Curious. He thought… he believed those to be there forever, but now that he thought of it… quotas were only imposed a few decavorns ago. At first as guidelines, but they quickly became compulsory and their meager salary was further reduced if they did not fulfill it.

Well, D-16 shrugged, he couldn’t do anything about it. He could produce his own ore quota every orn, even more than that, so it wasn’t a problem he had to worry about. Unless, of course the tunnel he was assigned to ran dry, which he was a bit afraid of right now. That bluish-green crystal was signalling bad tidings. D-16 waved to D-15, who slowly made his way towards the exit and the main shaft and he turned back towards the end of the tunnel. Unlatching his crude, heavy helm’s catches, he carefully lifted it off, hissing as a dent scraped over the underlying panels. 

The sensory panels unfurled and D-16 felt dizziness for a klik as the onslaught of sensory data swamped his processor. He was only able to process it at all if he dedicated all his processor-power to it, which was why he kept the heavy helm on all the time, shielding, suppressing the sensors. But to get a picture of the tunnel and its surroundings he would need more data than that. It was what supervisors were supposed to do and more often than they actually deemed necessary – but D-16 was too curious about things that he should be, according to his companions. And he was a foremech, so a quick look around wouldn’t be too pretentious, right?

As the echoes, spectrographs and various scanning rays dumped data into his processor, D-16 tried to keep up and make sense of them. He did not of course had a full mapping software to interpret all the data fully and create a detailed map of the tunnel and its environs, but experience helped him to at least get a rough picture of the surrounding strata. It wasn’t promising. Far too little useful energon crystals nearby, barely anything else worth mining for, and a few spots that screamed outright danger to him. Not a good prospect for his next few shifts if he was still assigned here. Maybe he should mention the green crystal to the supervisor when they left the mine.

But it wasn’t to be his problem. He gained bigger ones.

“D-16!”

The harsh sound of the shout snapped around the miners emerging from the mineshaft, their dirty, blank faces turning automatically towards the supervisor before moving on as the actual content registered. It was never a good thing to be singled out and every dust-coated miner was glad that the ID shouted out was not his. All, but one. D-16 heard the echo of the shout before his group emerged from underground so he had a few kliks to compose himself. D-15 heard it too and the two miners exchanged a brief glance, the barest of optic contact, one narrowed, one relieved, before making the last steps that carried them outside.

For the D mechs it was an orn off and it would have been for D-16 as well – an orn of rest, reenergize and maybe find a willing partner to satisfy urges that their ilk shouldn’t even have according to the higher castes. Though they were young in vorns, the miners were all constructed cold as adults, ready to work from the breem of activation – and they were glad to have a function, a place to work and enough energon to survive, however miserable their existence sometimes appeared. It still beat being an guttermech in the slums or a disposable lying broken and discarded on the streets.

“D-16!!!”

The shout was distinctly louder and harsher now, the supervisor getting impatient, though he should know exactly when their group was emerging from the depths of the mine. D-16 knew that he had to answer the call before the scanner at the exit revealed him anyhow. There was no reason to hide and no possibility of it either. He took the last step that carried him through the mine exit, dropped his pickaxe into the receptacle, veered away from the long, bleak line of the other miners moving slowly forward, towards their barracks and lifted one tired arm. Bowing his helm low in deference to the higher caste mech he answered, rarely used vocalizer producing staticky noises with his words.

“D-16 here.”

“Finally! Follow me at once!”

D-16 trudged after the smaller form of the supervisor, noting uncomfortably the two guards that joined them, even bigger frames than the miners, shadowing him with the silent threat of their stance and weapons. To his best knowledge, he did nothing to warrant attention from the higher ups, but one could never know and a small tinge of worry curled in his echoingly empty tank. But he didn’t try to ask anything. He wouldn’t get an answer anyway and a question would be taken as overstepping his place.

“In there!” 

The supervisor pointed to a side door in the main building of the mine that housed offices and fuelling stations – for the officials and clerks, not to the miners, who had their halls elsewhere, so D-16 hadn’t been here since he was registered as a miner the first time. The door slid away to reveal a… a washrack and he stopped in surprise. 

“Make sure he’s clean!”

The guards grumbled about not being anymech’s bath attendants, but pushed the surprised miner inwards and set about washing the accumulated mine-dirt from his frame with hoses first, harsh brushes second and plenty of solvent to top it off. D-16 spluttered and flailed under the sudden assault of cold solvent – he had never in his life been in an actual washrack before, as it was considered an unnecessary luxury for miners who got dirty again every orn. The guards laughed at his spluttering and D-16 fought down a sudden rush of anger before it could break out and he was deactivated. It was demeaning and borderline cruel and the guards obviously enjoyed it. This, he understood well – the mine guards had little in way of entertainment but that definitely included tormenting the miners who wouldn’t - couldn’t fight back.

They took their time with the enforced washing as well, but it ended eventually and with a last laugh they mechhandled the shuddering D-16 out, into the corridor and into another room, where the supervisor waited along with a few other mechs. D-16 felt almost naked without the dust and dirt caking to his frame, his hazard stripes showing up after so long hidden under the grime, his joints creaking and barely dried solvent making him shudder with a cold, wet feeling. It was even worse than the time a natural solvent spring had broken into the tunnel they were working in and flooded them all up to their waist. That one was at least warm-ish, like everything deep underground. This… but then he drew a sharp invent and forgot the cold immediately as he was pushed into a smaller room and saw what awaited him there.

One glance around and the guards snapped to attention, pushing him down to kneel on the ground and saluting stiffly to the smallest mech in there. They didn’t need to use force, D-16 knew his place and though he had never met a noble from up close, the obeisance and obedience to higher castes was beaten into them all. He knelt, helm held low and servos crossed in front of his frame – the textbook image of obedience. Inwardly, his worry curled towards actual fear.

“Sir! Sorry Sirs, we…”

“Enough. Out.”

A smoother but haughty and high voice snapped at the suddenly fearful guards and D-16 glanced covertly up from the ground where he was pushed down to, his gaze hidden by the heavy helm that protected his optics. The mech was obviously a noble, far higher than anymech in the room – or in the whole mine-operations. D-16 wasn’t sure that such a high-ranking noble had never visited the place before or not, but his presence sort of explained the enforced washing he was put through - though he still had no idea what they wanted from him. He felt a deep scan’s tingle run through his newly cleaned, strange-feeling frame and read his encoded ID.

“It’s the one… “ the contempt was thick in the cultured voice “No doubt.”

“My Lord, not that I doubt you, but… has he committed anything? D-16 is a good worker, a foremech in the D series and never did anything suspicious…”

The supervisor’s tone wasn’t worried for the miner he was about to loose – they had plenty of surplus mechs in the miner caste anyway who would gladly take his place and earn their survival in energon - but it would reflect badly on him if a dissenter or rebellious mech was found in his operation. 

“Not your concern supervisor” – the cold voice snapped impatiently – “I’ll take it away and that’s all you need to know. Write it off from the miners’ list and forget it existed.”

D-16’s throat tubing constricted at hearing that and his optics widened in fear. What was the noble going to do with him? Why was he taken from the mine? Where to? He had absolutely no idea what an actual, high-ranking noble would want with a miner but he had enough sense not to try and ask him. He glanced up again as he was pulled up again and made to follow the mech. The noble had dark, shimmering blue plating, of a quality D-16 never even dreamed of existing. It was waxed, polished to a high sheen and not even the mine’s everpresent dust seemed to be able to settle on it. He was smaller than every other mech present, but his size didn’t phase him in the very least. He was the highest ranking mech present and he knew it – and the others, even the mine manager acknowledged it without question. 

As he turned, D-16 caught the disdaining flash of blue optics… and shuddered again. They were like ice, cold and cruel with determination and shrewd thinking in their narrow slit under the soaring, complex helm adorned with trinkets. A deep, deep dread settled in his tank, a dark foreboding he couldn’t shake. But what else could he do but follow the noblemech and obey his orders, whatever they might be? D-16 trudged after the mech and his guards, silently shaking inside, but silent and obedient as he was taught. He was nomech, a mere cold-constructed miner, just one caste up from disposables. He shouldn’t think of fate and possibilities. It was going to be told to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The four glyphs D-16 knows are for energon, danger, unknown and his own ID. I thought someone might wanna know. Obviously he's not into the poetry-writing phase yet. :-P


	2. In the Palace

_(two decaorns earlier)_

__“Lord Prime.”_ _

__The servant bowed low and deep before him and backed out of the pompous meeting chamber with the datapads in his servos, leaving Optimus alone with two of the mechs he disliked most in the Palace. Both of them ignored the servant’s obeisance, their concerted attention on him so strongly and calculating he felt his plating wanting to crawl off of his protoform… Senator Ratbat wanted to convince him to appoint his protégée to the Senate while Senator Proteus wanted his approval on a notion he would never give it to and they wanted to achieve those goals working together. They were already done with some less loaded issues that the servant took for filing and copying and now it was time for the real arguments._ _

__“Lord Prime, as I have already notified you, the issue of the empty seat that has not been filled for three decaorns now…”_ _

__And he was already tired. The Matrix kept him up very, very late last orn and he still wasn’t sure what it was trying to tell him. The sacred artifact had never been anything less than cryptic and ambiguous, but this time he felt the urgency and importance too in whatever it was trying to convey. Whatever it was trying to tell him was crucial for the future of Cybertron, this much he already knew. And still, he had to wrangle such pointless issues with manipulating Senators instead of meditating! Optimus shifted on the far too bejeweled, far less comfortable chair that was too throne-like for his taste and refused to sigh. Or roll his optics, or Primus save him, beat Ratbat’s helm with a datapad until the Senator stopped spouting nonsense. Though, as he pondered on it, having to replace _Ratbat_ in the Senate would be a task he would undertake with great joy._ _

__Optimus wasn’t new to the Primacy, not any more. He had some vorns to get used to being in almost absolute power, he had ample training to shoulder it and enough experience to actually survive the cutthroat atmosphere of the Senate and Palace. Figuratively speaking, of course, he thought wryly, Senators killed with sweetly poisoned words, not with energon blades. He even had a small faction now, that he could more or less trust and work with, mostly younger and more open-minded Senators, carving their ways into the political scene with his covert support. Still, the old power and old money was in the majority yet, in the Senate and all over Cybertron too. Hence the likes of Ratbat and Proteus. Optimus forced himself to answer calmly, putting power and authority into his tone and words._ _

__“Senator Ratbat, the fact remains that Lord RoadRage has not met the required qualifications for the Senate. He has never done any public office that I know of and studied nothing that would make him a useful member.”_ _

__Senator Ratbat nodded politely but his optics flashed and the noblemech’s faceplates conveyed his dislike that his candidate was dismissed. Optimus Prime knew that the Senator was far more shrewd politician – and a noble far longer than him - to outright oppose him and contradict his words, but the matter was not closed as far as he was concerned. The sad fact was that Optimus didn’t have a candidate that he could support wholesparkedly and that made his position untenable in the long run. Rather sooner he would have to give in and he absolutely hated that._ _

__“As for the other matter we were discussing, Lord Proteus…”_ _

__Optimus Prime suddenly stopped and found that matter totally irrelevant. His deep voice died down into an echoing silence and his tense frame relaxed into the plush seat-cushions. His mental focus discarded the matter at servo, turned inwards as it went deeper, deeper…_ _

__“Lord Prime?”_ _

__He growled and shook off the intruding servo from his shoulder guard. A tiny, still conscious part of his processor winced at the common, crude sound but the rest of it just didn’t care if it offended somemech. His optics saw nothing of the chamber or the Senators any more, only the flickering, swaying, hazy nothingness-otherness that preceded the Matrix-sent visions._ _

__“But Lord Optimus, that was wholly…”_ _

__He waved the Senators away aggressively and sank deeper into his processor. Distantly, he was aware of the guards approaching and politely but firmly they escort the Senators out. They, at least were familiar by now with the way the Matrix so often demanded his attention at any time. What sometimes surprised him was the fact that the Senators and nobles were not used to these… episodes. Only much later after his coronation he learned that his predecessors had a far less close rapport with the Matrix and that such a communion that he achieved effortlessly at any time, required from them joors of intense meditation to attain. As for him, the Matrix appeared to be always close to his thoughts and visions were common any time of the orn._ _

__Optimus understood the artifact in a way he could never explain when asked. It was not the origin of the visions, only channelling them from Primus… but at the same time it was semi-sentient and in a way intelligent too; and it had a rapport with the Prime’s processor that allowed it to fashion those visions in a way he could possibly understand. It worked sometimes better, sometimes worse, but he could perceive the improvement over time, as their rapport got better and allowed clearer visions and suggestions._ _

__Right now the vision encompassed him fast and he barely had time to acknowledge the party leaving his chambers before the haze fully settled into his processor. It was a particularly strong and clear vision, one he was always hoping and praying for – either Primus had pitied him and sent clear instructions or the Matrix was getting really better at channelling Him. Well, as clear as it ever was. Optimus always thought that it was his failing that he could not understand Primus’s intentions clearly – His Chosen he might be, but he was still just a mech, a mortal, definitely not a God, despite of the picture the Priesthood was trying to paint him in._ _

__Be that as it may, he pondered slowly and hazily after the vision was over and he lay half-sitting, half slid down and spread out on the priceless armchair and collected his strength to sit up properly; what the vision told him and showed him and what he finally understood clearly, would be a hard thing for the Council and the Senate to swallow. Probably the hardest so far that he had tried to put through them and it wasn’t even political._ _

__“Everything is political that concerns the Primacy!”_ _

__A few joors later, Optimus still had a slight processor ache and he winced inwardly at the shrill voice of Lord Avila. It had taken him over two joors to return to some semblance of normal this time after the trance-like state and that even included a lavish, scented oil bath and a full-frame cable massage his personal servant administered so divinely. Along with several cubes of his favourite, sweet Kalisian energon to replenish his tanks – the Matrix trance curiously used up more energon than a speed-race or a strenuous training joor with Ironhide._ _

__“What the Matrix tells me is that the matter is clearly not up for debate, Senator. I understand your concerns for the Primacy in general, but this is clearly a one-time issue and concerns exclusively my person and the present situation. It means that no law about it is necessary to formulate and pass in the Senate. We can manage this matter within existing framework of laws, however unique it may sound now.”_ _

__He had managed to remove or change several of his predecessor’s councilmechs, but some were still in on the Inner Council, whom he would have never appointed to it. Lord Avila, an elderly, small, and immensely wealthy noble was a particular case in point. At least he was not shrewd and sly, like Ratbat, just… less-endowed in the processor than most, while more conceited than most as well. Just one look at his jewel-bedecked, elaborately painted frame and nearly empty faceplates told most of what was there to know about him._ _

__“Primus forbid me to doubt what the Sacred Matrix said… but are you sure, Lord Prime that there is no other interpretation?”_ _

__Optimus was glad for the question and glanced at the huge mech on his right. Lord Dai Atlas was one of the more acceptable ones, if a trifle more traditional and inflexible than Optimus would have liked, but with him, the Prime could at least actually converse and discuss matters sensibly, debating the points for and against a decision. Even more importantly, if, in the end they still disagreed, Dai Atlas always, without failing, obeyed to what Optimus decreed. His main hunting ground – so to speak – was more the Senate than the Inner Council and he was by nature and training not ambitious above his station which he held onto firmly. Completely sure of his place in the order of things, the large mech could be trusted to never act against him or what he perceived as the good of Cybertron._ _

__“No, Lord Dai Atlas, this vision was exceedingly clear and lacking interpretative content. If I do not find this mech and go through what Primus declared for us, bonding and working together… then it would mean an all-Cybertron civil war with an alarmingly horrifying outcome. Extinction is not a word I - or Primus Himself - throws about easily and the Matrix put a particularly strong stress on this point. I suggest that you all stop questioning and arguing this matter and find me the way to fulfill it as soon as possible. Time is also of some essence here.”_ _

__The oppressive silence that fell in the Council Chamber was somber and somewhat worried. Optimus rarely spoke so forcefully but he wanted them to understand that this course of action had to happen and soon. Lord Dai Atlas frowned but acknowledged his answer with a deferential nod, Lord Avala looked dissatisfied, but couldn’t voice exactly what with and Lord Shockwave hasn’t spoken up yet. Of course the scientist usually held himself apart from the more religious side of government, but Optimus still would have liked his opinion. And his support. He held a lot of sway with the educated castes and while that had never been a particularly numerous layer in Cybertronian society, their activity in voting and civil matters was among the strongest._ _

__“Then we must find a mech whose designation you do not know, after a somewhat vague description, who can be anymech from any caste and any city on Cybertron or the colonies.”_ _

__Ultra Magnus managed to make that a question without actually wording it as such. As the Chief Enforcer, the task would most likely to be his anyhow, though Secret Service would probably also want to have a servo in it. Any mech who didn’t exist in their two databases were vanishingly unlikely to be able to influence Cybertron’s future to the degree the vision described. In fact Optimus was sure that a search was already running in both, after his admittedly vague description. He still nodded, thankful for Magnus’s practicality defusing the others’ vague distaste and enmity towards this rather unorthodox course of action._ _

__“I will of course relay any details as soon as I can glean them. And… when he is found, Ultra Magnus, please… no harm should befall him or any family, friends he has.”_ _

__Ultra Magnus nodded, though the warning was more for the others than the Enforcer. Optimus himself was absolutely sure that Magnus had never in his function stepped over any rules or laws, so it wasn’t like he would try anything towards this mech._ _

__“What do we do with him if he’s found then? From the description he is likely from a lower caste…?”_ _

__Optimus sighed. The caste system was firmly in place, despite of his best efforts to shake it somewhat – he was not yet politically strong enough to even mention abolishing it, even though he was absolutely sure that Primus wasn’t looking at his children in this… fragmented way. The Matrix had given him that impression, no, that knowledge but he didn’t dare to tell of it to many in the Palace. The caste distinctions were established gigavorns ago and they became more and more rigid as time went by and all the Primes, his predecessors affirmed it. Though Optimus had his suspicions about at least Theta Prime, who passed away fast and under mysterious circumstances – the mech himself was not a noble either and his early edicts showed him to be a reformer type of Prime, whereas most of the rest were conservatives to some degree._ _

__“In that case he will receive an education and coaching necessary for the title and the role he must play. I cannot imagine the Matrix insisting the importance of a mech who is unable to learn the Palace etiquette and rules. I am sure that he can adjust.”_ _

__The Councilmechs mostly looked skeptic at his answer but they accepted it – some, like Avila with ill grace, but accept it they did and as each left to their duties, Optimus was very glad that the meeting was over and he had a little free time before a priestly function even the Matrix-vision couldn’t possibly get him out. He had his own doubts and the worst thing was he had very few real friends to share them with._ _

__“What about you, Optimus? They all care about this mech being a low caste mech and an unknown in the court… but how do you feel about having to bond with a complete stranger on the word of that… artifact?”_ _

__Well, few mechs to talk it over with, except perhaps Ratchet. The medic had a no-nonsense, gruff, barely etiquette-compliant demeanor, but Optimus liked it better than the smarmy compliance of most of his nobles and the absolute reverence of the servants and priests. Even with his non-belief in Primus and his vary carefulness about the Matrix, the medic was an outspoken word of common sense that Optimus very much missed from his archivist orns._ _

__“I have always known that as a Prime I would have to bond from necessity, not mutual liking.”_ _

__Ratchet snorted as he moved closer and routinely scanned Optimus._ _

__“Give that drivel to somemech else, please. How do **you** feel about it? And how is that processor-ache, by the way?”_ _

__Optimus smiled slightly and accepted the mild rebuke nomech else would dare to voice these orns._ _

__“I hope that in time we can accept each other. Mutual respect and cooperation is all I require for this bonding to work. And the processor-ache is dissipating now, that I have time to rest.”_ _

__“You mean now that those leeches left? I can believe that. You know that this mech, whoever they are, will be basically kidnapped and forced to comply to you, right?”_ _

__Optimus looked alarmed and glanced at the medic sharply._ _

__“I gave orders not to do that!”_ _

__“Yeah, well, they will do it behind the scenes then. Hopefully he is a noble and able to speak up and protest a bit. Able to complain to you afterwards and so on.”_ _

__Optimus stared at his medic dismayed. He came from a middle class family with castes above and beneath them and he theoretically knew how the deeper one went, the more oppressed the lower castes were. But he never had to actually experience it and since he became Prime all his contact with the common population were the temple functions, where even the lowest caste mechs could touch, or get close to anyway, to Primus and His Chosen. These formal and ritual occasions were far from actually seeing how the lower castes were treated._ _

__“I will speak to Ultra Magnus again, to make sure nothing like that happens. It is Primus’s will, so there is no way he can decline… but I hope to convince him of this myself and not anymech force him to!”_ _

__“I know…” – Ratchet sighed heavily – “you are a good mech, a good Prime. I wish we had more like you in the Senate. They still frag up most of your sensible edicts.”_ _

__Optimus Prime lifted his helm suddenly, looking at the medic with narrowed optics. A tiny smile played on his lips, one Ratchet could not interpret immediately, as a sudden idea made his circuits warm._ _

__“I wish we had more like you there, Ratchet! Tell me… why am I not appointing you to the Senate, anyway?” he smirked at the incredulously gaping medic and continued “wait! Don’t say no yet! Think how much good you could help me do there, how many of your plans you could cause to become real! I need mechs who want the same as me, Ratchet, I desperately need more like you in the Senate – and Ratbat wants to force me to put another of his puppets in the empty seat.”_ _

__It was exceedingly rare that Optimus could surprise his medic, a mech far older than him and far more experienced too; but by the look of him, he managed to hit it this time. More shocked than surprised, Optimus snickered as Ratchet continued to gape at him wordlessly. The medic never, ever got glossa-tied before. It took him a good part of a breem to regain some of his composure and shoot him an incredulous look._ _

__“But… I’m not even a politician!”_ _

__“Because the nobles are? You have more common sense than the rest of them put together.”_ _

__“Still, I… I just… can’t!”_ _

__“Ratchet, you had me, the Prime chastised on occasion. I need somemech who can put those pompous afthelms to their places and I can’t think of a better mech for that!”_ _

__“But I’m… your medic!”_ _

__“And I require so much care besides regular checkups?”_ _

__Ratchet grumbled about idiot primes climbing into strange tunnels under his exvent, but even he knew that it was just one occasion and Optimus’s guard would never let him repeat that or anything else even remotely dangerous. Since giving up general practice to being the Prime’s main medic he had far less to do than he would have liked and he was expressly forbidden from continuing to treat the _rabble_ as one Senator put it. And he had plans, dreams, Optimus knew, that would benefit lower castes and poorer mechs. As a Senator he could have a lot more influence to put them into action._ _

__“Think about it, please. I am serious in this. If you accept, I will name you at once.”_ _

__Ratchet could also take the slag Ratbat would be heaping on him if Optimus choose him for the Senate and give it back with interest. It was one reason why he didn’t want to nominate Perceptor, whose naivety would be a disadvantage there, even though his knowledge would benefit the Senate. But the cyberwolves, otherwise known as Senators would eat the slim mech alive before he was done with his admittance speech. Ratchet, on the other servo… the medic would make them eat their words and shrug away the eventual slag in return._ _

__“I… will. But only if you consider what I said about this… plan of yours.”_ _

__“If it is a plan, Ratchet, it is Primus’s, not mine. Mine is only the task of making it real.”_ _

__“Do I detect some bitterness there?”_ _

__“Bitterness? No.” Optimus lifted a brow plate and continued “Some hesitation and worries, yes. But I am determined, because the alternative He has shown me is unacceptable. I cannot do anything less than avoiding it completely.”_ _

__“What exactly that? I heard war, but not the details…”_ _

__Optimus heard the unsaid words and knew than even some in the Senate, the professional soldiers and the weapon-factory owners agreed with that sentiment, that a war would not be too bad so far as it was contained. And against some other races, like the ever bothersome Quintessons. Such a war would even solve some of the problems with the army and the fliers… but it was not like that._ _

__“It would be a civil war, Ratchet. Mechs against each other, cities destroying their neighbours totally, horrific atrocities becoming commonplace and after eons of war, the Cybertronian race driven to extinction. The pictures I saw were so horrible – it must not happen. I will not let it happen!”_ _

__Ratchet looked shocked at his passionate words, not convinced yet, but understanding Optimus enough to know that his decision would not be shaken, no matter what arguments he could say._ _

__“If the price for that is the life, free will or happiness of two mechs, I will pay that price.”_ _

__“You and this mysterious mech both.”_ _

__“It is the will of Primus, Ratchet.”_ _

__The medic looked at him sharply, scowl drawing his lipplates._ _

__“Which is why I chose to not believe in him in the first place. Free will is only free until a God meddles? How do we know that it is for the best, Optimus? How?”_ _

__“We trust Him, Ratchet. Trust him and our best judgement.”_ _

__“I can only trust the latter.”_ _

__“May that be enough, then.”_ _


	3. Loyalties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, still no D-16, Sentinel hogged the glory for this chapter. But the next one will be returning to D-16's POV, I promise!

_(one decaorn earlier)_

Ultra Magnus entered his spacious office and allowed himself a little sigh before sitting down at his desk. The Lord Prime’s description was neither very detailed, nor very helpful, though of course he would never say that to his faceplates. Nevertheless he had to attempt locating one mech among the billions on very sketchy data. He pressed the button that called his assistant to the office and looked up when Sentinel came in through the side door, the red-gold mech holding as usual a stack of datapads that he carefully deposited onto his boss’s desk. A blue optic narrowed at one of the datapads that slid out of perfect alignment and Sentinel quickly corrected the angle so that it lay perfectly perpendicular to the desk’s edge. Ultra Magnus overlooked the tiny blunder. The mech was, after all new to his office, working with the Planetary Enforcer Office for barely a few decaorns.

“Sentinel. Arrange a meeting of the department heads right now. We have an urgent task, superseeding everything we work on, issued by the Lord Prime himself.”

“Yes, Sir! I’ll do it at once!”

“And make sure they know not to spread the world. It is somewhat of a sensitive issue.”

Ultra Magnus didn’t notice the interested flash of optics as his assistant hurried out of the office and called all the mechs he needed to. In this he was efficient enough, the Chief Enforcer conceded; in barely more than half a joor his department head sat in his office in a loose circle and he described them the task and the description of the mech they needed to find soonest. Sentinel had to record the meeting and file the transcript of it, so he was also present and though he showed nothing unusual outwardly, Ultra Magnus still had the feeling that his assistant was highly interested in the topic. But he dismissed his thoughts as useless suspicion. The mech was new but he certainly worked hard and the background check showed nothing negative on him. A minor noble from an obscure and impoverished rural family who came to the capital to make his fortune? An all too common story and nothing to be suspicious of. The Chief Enforcer focused on the matter at servo instead.

“This mech that we must find as fast as we can looks the following: Large framed mech, on the size class of the Prime himself, with heavy, grey or silvery grey plating and golden markings of undescribed shape on the shoulders and helm. Heavy, but simple helm. Some sort of a sensor suite underneath. Red optic lenses, one pair only. Alt mode is not given. May be any caste from the lowest to the highest.” Ultra Magnus paused and carried his glance around “Any suggestions as to where to start the search?”

“Might be military. That frame size is not common in the civilian sector, only in the constructicon class, but those are special in shape too.” Travail from the Detective Department offered up after a breem of silence and most of his colleagues nodded.

“The golden markings fit that too. It’d help to know the shapes, though.”

“If he’s a warbuild, we can find him easily. The military keeps meticulous records.”

Ultra Magnus nodded at the offered information. He agreed with them, it sounded as a warbuild’s description, though there was no visible weapon mentioned.

“Make the search focus on that area then. Give me the possible matches in an orn so I can present them to Lord Optimus Prime. Any other suggestions?”

“If he’s military we can just simply order him to report to the Palace Guard and take it from there.” Callsign, from the Administrative Department added “I understand that some secrecy is advised.”

“Yes, definitely keep it secret, all of you. And no coercing or extorting the mech, the Lord Prime warned me; keep that also in processor. He will have the Lord Prime’s audial later.”

The optics around widened at his warning and Ultra Magnus hoped that they would all take it seriously. Optimus Prime sounded very insistent on this issue.

“That’s all, so if you have nothing else to add? No? In that case all of you start searching immediately.”

The mechs filed out of his office and left him alone with Sentinel, who was just finishing up his report on the short meeting. The vain and ambitious red-gold mech was ready soon enough and presented Ultra Magnus with the datapad to sign and took it to file straight after. In the door though, he stopped and after a klik’s hesitation he turned back after a short clearing of his invent to address the Chief Enforcer politely.

“Ultra Magnus, Sir?”

“Yes, Sentinel?”

“If it’s important, I can stay overtime, of course, but if there’s nothing, I’d… I mean my shift is over soon, so could I perhaps…?”

Ultra Magnus checked the time. He frowned as it was three and a half breems yet from the end of the assistant’s shift and filing the datapad would only take two at most. It didn’t speak well of his assistant to be so… slack. That he himself would stay in office until the urgent task was done should be a pointer for the younger mech.

“You may leave when the shift is over.” he answered a bit more brusque than usual. Ultra Magnus didn’t like mechs who handled things… imprecisely or without dedication. 

“Of course, Sir, that was what I meant! Exactly on time!”

Ultra Magnus nodded but frowned after the other mech left the office. The hurried words sounded less than perfectly earnest to him and the sudden wish to leave when the rest of the office was going to work over the dark cycle struck him as irresponsible. Maybe Sentinel was not the assistant he had wanted, after all. 

-o-o-o-

Exactly three and a half breem later Sentinel nearly run out, through his tiny office’s door, thinking less than charitable things about his _slagging, stick in his aft boss_ , but careful for them to not to show on his faceplates. He was getting more and more excited by the klik since he left the Chief’s office and plans literally swamped his processor. The news he heard in there were definitely sellable material and he just had to decide who would pay the most for them. Added to them the info that only he knew and would worth even more – it would finally make it worth to come to Iacon after so long to try and rebuild his family’s misfortune. His fragging boss haven’t even thought of asking him for input! Serves him right, Sentinel sneered, his valuable info would now go to somemech else and it would advance his fortune at last!

 _Golden markings, his left axle!_ Sentinel almost laughed. _Golden, indeed. Hahh!_

He nearly ran through the Palace, barely slowing down at the security checkpoints that read his ID and clearance. Outside, he transformed and shot out into the traffic with squealing tires. His goal was not very far but a drive around the Lords Quarter would calm his jittery nerves and decide how to let him bargain for the best effect. He would not foul up this chance Primus handed him on a silver platter! No, of course he would not. He was Sentinel of Travis and they would learn that designation again! He didn’t come to Iacon to be a mere… assistant to a straightlaced, dumb commoner with a fancy title! Though the position paid off with this information nicely, he admitted to himself as he neared to his goal.

The Silver Shard Palace was almost as big as the Primal Palace and almost as old too. The place had been in the possession of Iacon’s oldest noble family for uncountable generations, supposedly descending from the original Primes as well, though these orns mechs hardly ever cared for that. It was a lot harder for Sentinel to get in, since he had no clearance here at all, but he argued, convinced, sweet-talked, promised and hinted enough to some mechs so that after half a joor of nerve-wracking and painstaking efforts he stood in an elaborate room and bowed low and deferentially to its inhabitant, a haughty, old mech with immaculate paint and polish on his blue-purple frame, sitting on a suspiciously throne-like chair.

“Senator Ratbat…”

“It had better be good whatever it is you have bullied your way here with!”

“Sir, I can assure Your Lordship, it is of utmost importance that I have! I only ask to be helped in exchange…”

“Stop right there! First you tell me what you have, then I will decide if it is worth any recompense!”

Sentinel frowned inwardly and covered it up with another deep bow. Slagger.

“Of course, My Lord! I didn’t presume…”

“Don’t waste my time! And your time either! You are one klik away from being thrown out from my Palace!”

“Sir, it is about that mech, Lord Optimus Prime ordered to be found!”

Ahh! That got the ancient fragger’s attention, Sentinel could tell. Even though he tried to show sneering disinterest still, but the next question had a lot less anger colouring its tone.

“What about it?”

“My Lord… I happen to know that the Enforcers seek him in the wrong place. If it is worth something for your Lordship to have his servo on the mech first…?”

Senator Ratbat’s optics narrowed and a hungry look appeared in them. Sentinel nearly crowed inwardly in exultation. This was his chance! His moment! His starting point upwards to fame! The old mech was hooked, now for the line and… he would fish out his fortune!

“Continue.”

“They think he is a warbuild and search for him in the military. But warbuilds are never stark silver, they love strong, harsh colours. Lower castes prefer garish, bright paints. Almost nomech on Cybertron is simply grey.”

“But you know something. Some caste or group who have no colour.”

“Yes, Sir! I hail from a small town. A mining town. Miners never get painted, because dust covers them anyway. They all have stark metal plating. No colours. Except…”

He nearly laughed out loud. How they mistook those!

“Except the yellow hazard markings on them.” – he finished victoriously and now he dared to straighten up fully and look at the Senator’s optics.

“So that are those markings…” – Ratbat sounded a bit surprised too – “are you sure of this?”

“Yes, My Lord, absolutely!”

“A miner then… hahh! A lowly, common miner!” there was something unidentifiable in Ratbat’s optics and his lipplates drew back from white, perfect denta. Hate? Gloating? Whatever it was, Sentinel didn’t want it to be directed at him. “I guess it is fitting in some disgusting way. An archivist turned Prime and a miner to be his… consort. With MY servo on this _miner_ ’s leash… and eventually on both!”

The Senator looked at Sentinel again, this time with a lot more appreciation in his shrewd optics.

“This was indeed valuable information. What do you want for it?”

“My family’s designation was disgraced a few generations back. I want it to be cleared again and play a role in Cybertron’s rule again as I should.” Sentinel answered proudly, a little bit too proudly, so he hurriedly bowed to the Senator to show deference “With Your Lordship’s leadership of course!”

“So you want to be… famous.” there was an wry understanding in the Senator’s expression “I can certainly help you with that. Where are you now?”

“I work in the Chief Enforcer’s office, My Lord!”

“You can do better than serving that… commoner. You could be… let’s see, my assistant and in time I shall pave your path towards the senate.”

Sentinel’s optics flashed bright and he nearly punched the air in elation, only remembering where he was and whom he was facing with at the last nanoklik. He turned the starting movement into another deep bow instead that also served to hide his huge grin. Finally, he was on his road to success! 

“You can start by finding me the mine and this mech. Right away. I want to be the first to hold its leash!”

“May I ask about your… intentions with him, My Lord?”

The narrow optics glanced on him again and Sentinel suddenly felt some tiny fear curling in his tanks. Those optics were not kind and certainly not encouraging. Overstepping with Ultra Magnus had just earned him a written reprimand and no repercussions. The same here, he suddenly felt, would be a lot worse. He must tread carefully from now on. 

“You will know my intentions when you will need to. Remember your place, Sentinel of Travis, if you wish to advance in my service!”

“I… apologize, My Lord.” how those word burned his vocalizer! “I will start on the search at once!”

“You do that. Find my seneschal and make the arrangements.”

Sentinel made an excellent job if he was to say so. In barely an orn they had the mech’s place of work and probable designation. The miners were surprisingly different in frame and only a very few had those sensory suites. With the knowledge, he had hoped to be the one entrusted with retrieving the mech, but Senator Ratbat had different ideas and Sentinel was ordered to stay put while a higher ranking noble, a slagging relative of the Senator got the job. He was fuming, but couldn't do anything yet.


	4. En Route

D-16 looked up as he was prodded to follow behind the noble to the outside. It was rare to see the sky in the industrial district as the smelters’ smoke usually covered it up behind a thick, dirty gray curtain, but right now, the near constant cover broke up a bit and from behind the sun tried its best to shine through. The miner’s optics were optimized for the eternal dim darkness of the tunnels and D-16’s optic shutters have nearly spiraled shut so he could look up without being blinded. It was still a sight he drank in eagerly, the shining rays of the Sun that fought with the dark grey of the smoke; a sight he could hardly remember seeing before more than a servoful of times.

It was as marvelous as it was frightening in its brilliant lightness, strange for the miner who was used to enclosed darkness and found safety in the soft, echoing black velvet of the endless tunnels that were dimly lit only by the red embers of the safety strips and the occasional dark purple flicker of exposed energon crystals. Such a bright light down in the mines was more often than not the flash of an explosion, danger among the volatile energon crystals, fire and death in the place where escape was not possible and the safety of the tunnel walls became an enemy and more often than not a tomb once they crumbled around unfortunate mecha. 

But light up here was so much softer, so less threatening… and so very beautiful. The slightly slanted, shining rays were like so many pillars of gold holding up the majestic grey dome of the sky – and even the billowing smoke reminded him of the incense the priests spread in the temples - once he managed to forget the foul stench of it. A temple was the only simile his processor could come up with; though they were told that Primus lived in the core of the planet, he had never seen anything Godly in the mineshafts and certainly nothing so beautiful as the sun-rays in the cramped, dirty barracks where the miners lived.

“Faster! We didn’t come for sightseeing!”

He was prodded by a guard’s weapon and D-16 lowered his gaze from the sky and saw that the noblemech was already at the entryway of some sort of a transport, a flying one at that while he lagged behind. He suddenly became nervous, even more so than he was already at being picked out. Even the open ground and the sight of the sky was strange, the lack of comforting walls around him was making him edgy, but to actually rise into the open sky in a flying machine? His invents picked up and he slowed down again, despite of the nudging from the guards. 

“Come on, don’t make us pack you up and throw into the hold!”

Hesitantly, frightened, D-16 started walking again. The flier was huge, able to transport many mechs, even his and the guards’ size… but as he reached the doorway, his optics widened again in shock instead of fear. The sheer opulence of the interior was something he didn’t even have words for, couldn’t even find similes in his memory banks. It was like the noblemech himself – the space wide, brightly lit and accomodating, the elaborate furniture high quality and comfortable, everything painstakingly painted, immaculately polished and bedecked with jewels, trinkets and… things he couldn’t identify. It was like… like nothing he’s seen before. Again the temple came to his processor, but even that was more fitting to the miner town itself than this… opulence.

“Take it to the back! I won’t have the covers dirtied by it until it is properly cleaned.”

It took some time before D-16 realized that the ‘it’ was referring to him and when it did he felt a tiny, hot curl of anger… he was a miner, true, low caste and unimportant compared to the noble, but still a mech and not a drone! But the anger was immediately followed by fear and he made sure that neither reached his faceplates, shone in his optics. He kept his helm bowed and his frame subservient as the guards pushed him towards the back of the craft, into a small and thank Primus windowless room. It would be terrifying to see the way the transport lifted off and rose to the open sky. 

The room contained two narrow berths and a single, small chair that looked far too delicate for his frame, and D-16 sank onto the former, suddenly feeling tired and hungry. His tanks were nearly empty after the long shift and he was picked up before he could get his ornly ration in the barracks. Hopefully somemech would give him some fuel soon – provided they wanted him to continue functioning, which he still wasn’t absolutely sure. That nomech told him anything did not surprise the miner. His kind only got told what was absolutely necessary for their work and not a word more. Usually, he didn’t mind it. It was just easy to obey the orders and not try to think of causes and consequences, comfortable and safe. But right now, feeling the flier’s slight tremble as it took off, carrying him into a situation that he knew nothing about, but what was potentially dangerous – right now D-16 wished he knew at least a little of his future.

The travel was long and boring, but D-16 took boredom well – the mines were actually more boring than dangerous, at least most of the time. Hitting the rock-wall with a pickaxe a billion times a shift for a lifetime was not anymech’s idea of fun. But the longer the trip took the farther he was taken from anything familiar and known, anymech he knew and the meager possessions he managed to collect during the vorns since he was onlined and hid under his berth in the barrack. How D-16 wished he was back in those dirty barracks and drinking his weak fuel, thinking only of finding a buymech willing to spend some time with!

A long air travel meant a place farther than Tarn’s surroundings, like Kaon or Travis the nearby mining and industrial places. Those were the ones D-16 had at least a little knowledge of. He knew a few names of other cities, Iacon, of course, the capital of Cybertron and the seat of the Prime; Vos, with the exotic fliers and immense towers; Ibex from where the car races were broadcast that so many of the miners followed avidly on the public vidscreens. But none of that was any actual knowledge and it didn’t him which city he was taken to and why. 

Future had never worried him before. Future for a miner was endless toil or early deactivation in a mine-explosion. Neither required much thinking. But being singled out by a noblemech – it was inconceivable. D-16 knew that he was no different from thousands of other miners, neither better than any of them, nor worse. He engaged in no illegal activities and pursued no forbidden goals. True, he was curious about the world and watched the public vidscreens every time they were turned on, but that was allowed entertainment and nothing to stand out for. He asked older miners about mining and life about… before, but why would even that be cause for this mess he was in?

After a joor of futile thinking D-16 just sat back on the berth, letting the worries go and leaned back to the warm, faintly trembling wall. Recharge was unlikely, but he could power down nonessential systems this way. His tank pinged him insistently for breems now, warning him about low levels. But he couldn’t do anything for it, so he tried to ignore the familiar, achingly empty feeling, settling down to wait for whatever was to come. He would get answers – and hopefully energon when they arrived.

He never thought of trying to open the door, which was not even capable of being locked.

-o-o-o-

“Lord Task! What a delightful coincidence meeting you here!”

“Lord Mirage.”

Lord Task scowled and looked unhappy in the doorway of the transport, that had just landed at a simple airstrip half-hidden in the suburbs of Iacon. Mirage smiled blithely standing on the field, like he truly believed their meeting to be a coincidence and that he was actually glad to see the fellow noble. Which was definitely not the case. He was sent to this particular landing strip by Jazz and with specific instructions that were as strange as they ever… but nothing he couldn’t do. Certainly not if his opponent was the Lord Task, whom he knew very well. He was glad the other chose this place to come to. He could deal with the noble better than most other agents.

“Yes, likewise… I am surprised that you came to this insignificant place for… whatever reason.”

“I just happened by, you know, just a little excursion… what about you, Lord Task? Have you been somewhere interesting by any chance? Please, do tell!”

Mirage tried to discreetly peer into the interior of the shuttle, but Lord Task’s guards surreptitiously blocked the entryway. Slag. He scowled, the tiny facial movement disappearing fast from his schooled façade to be replaced by his false cheerfulness. The lighter blue noble was less in control of his expression and it was distinctly unhappy.

“N-no, just a, umm, business trip to a boring mining town. Yeah. We have some interest in expanding and my Uncle wanted me to learn more about the profitability of energon mining.”

“Really? I would have never thought you would be interested in business? Or that your Uncle would ever entrust you with one…?”

The little, poisoned barb was unrelated to the matter in servo, but Mirage just couldn’t stop himself from needling the other noble. Games like this were the life-energon for young nobles and as far as they didn’t harm his mission, Jazz wouldn’t mind him indulging. And really… if one must lie, at least should keep it simple. Complex lies trapped their users, Mirage learned long ago and not even in Secret Service. Lord Task sputtered and his servos tightened into fists in impotent anger.

“I… umm… he does lately. Excuse me, but I must go. My Uncle awaits me and… me. Umm.”

Mirage’s optics flashed briefly. He made no move away or to let Task through, blocking the exit by his very presence, unwilling to give way ever so politely. If Task was hiding something – or rather somemech as he was advised – he would not leave until he had a witness nearby.

“You have a guest?” Mirage put on a salacious smirk and nudged the other noble in the side lightly, which had the added benefit of his guards moving closer and clearing the doorway. It revealed the transport’s main chamber empty. “What kind of a guest…? Are you perhaps hiding a courtesan or two you spent the long travel with…?”

“I, ummm… ooo… I… do.” Lord Task was definitely not a liar type, all the better prey for Mirage “Please, I must leave now.”

“Ohh, sure, sure! I don’t mean to hold you back from reporting to your venerable Uncle! But surely you don’t mind if I check your whore too? I find myself in need of some diversion suddenly.”

Lord Task looked alarmed and trapped, but Mirage was still a tiny bit higher on the rank-ladder, by being a Second Heir, so he couldn’t exactly order the other around. And his own lie bound his servos from acting more forcefully…

“Don’t worry, Lord Task, I will pay for my… amusements!”

Mirage started inward the shuttle, forcefully ignoring the other noble and his hesitant guards. Theoretically, they could not stop him, unless he threatened their master and they knew it. The shuttle was a hired one, another mistake from the inexperienced noble, so it wasn’t like he was violating private property either. 

“Lord Mirage, umm… I really would rather if you… didn’t…”

But Mirage was already inside, still ignoring Task who ran in after him. There weren’t many compartments in the shuttle to hide a large mech; the cockpit was unlikely, so it had to be the rear room where usually the servants stayed while in flight. Opening the door slightly he saw the mech he was looking for right away, but played his role to the hilt, leaning back out in feigned surprise and a disdaining smirk:

“Well, well, Lord Task… I didn’t know you were that kinky?!?”

The light blue noble sighed, shook his helm and wrung his servos, not even answering to Mirage. His optics widened in helpless fear. He was busted and he knew it.

“Well. I’ll be… that mech even looks like… the one our Lord Prime searches for! I wonder if that’s a really, really strange coincidence or… or your Uncle has a hidden agenda that involves betraying the Lord Prime!”

By the end of the sentence, Mirage divested his tone and expression of any false cheerfulness and became ice cold. The time of playing games was over, now came the time for threats. Lord Task knew it too and looked fearful, ready to beg and cower. Mirage’s involvement with the Secret Service was not widely known, not even in his own family, but he carefully spread a lot of rumours about himself, most of them depicting him as ruthless and cruel.

“I haven’t known, Lord Mirage! I swear! I was just told to pick him up and deliver…”

“Deliver him to… where?”

Task looked pitiful, but Mirage felt no compassion for him. Damned if he betrayed his family, damned if he was found disloyal to the Prime, but such was the risk he took. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how shady this deal was. And his Uncle was far away, while Mirage right there and showed his ruthless image to the fullest. Task was small prey, not at all trained properly for such a task as confronting Mirage; and therefore easily cowed by immediate threats. 

“Answer me!”

“To the… the… Silver Shard Palace!”

So it was Senator Ratbat behind it, just as Jazz thought. How he could find the mech before Ultra Magnus did, Mirage wasn’t sure, but it was another agent’s task to find out. Jazz had to have a mech in that place, of that Mirage was sure. Task, he was sure of it, knew no more than what he already told. No sane mech would entrust the young noblemech with actual secrets.

“I am taking over his care in the name of the Lord Prime.” he informed the broken-looking noble, caring little about his fate “What is his designation?”

Lord Task collected himself with some effort to answer, though he still looked like a broken mech.

“It’s a miner. It doesn’t have any. Just an ID.”

“Really…?” Mirage was more than a little shocked but he hid it well. No designation? He never heard of such a thing. Why wouldn’t a miner have a name…?

“D-16.”


	5. Arrival

It was several joors before D-16’s rest on the too-small berth was disturbed and the door opened. One of the guards leaned in to order him out and he collected the last of his energy to obey. In the main, opulent compartment of the transport there was not one noble, but two now and they appeared to be in some sort of a confrontation… but D-16 didn’t have the energy to worry any more. He knelt apathetically without prompting and waited them to decide his fate. 

“He is the one?”

“Without doubt. Can you imagine?” there was disgust in the first tone, but D-16 had no more strength to be angry about it “I guess if they forced the issue, they could’ve found one lower, but not much. A miner?!? And it’s still dirty…”

“He.” the cultured tone corrected the disgusted one “He is a mech, not a drone.”

The new noblemech’s tone betrayed no emotions but it was less sneering and D-16 glanced up covertly at him. This one was taller than the first, a little bit deeper shade of blue on a different frame, one that he had trouble to identify, though still opulent and elegant. The blue optics looked cold to him, but this pair was at least less emotional, more like not interested in him than contemptuous like the first. Though under the scrutiny of both pairs he still felt nervous again. 

“You… D-16! Come with me! I’ll take you to the Palace.”

He stood up and nodded deferentially and went behind the new noblemech, keeping a polite distance from him. The shock inside was just registering… taking him to the… PALACE? For what? But once he stepped outside the flier, onto the high ground of the landing strip he couldn’t help again but stop… and stare with wide optics. There were other mechs around, guards and… others, but he had no attention for them. Only for the surroundings that were nothing like he’s ever seen. He even forgot how empty his tanks were as he stood there amazed.

The clear sky they had seen so rarely in Tarn, was bright white here with not a single cloud or wisp of smoke tarnishing it, the sun out in full force, blinding him at the same time as its rays felt… warm on his plating? Yes, he wasn’t hallucinating, the rays actually warmed up his plating. D-16 had never truly felt such warmth, certainly not from sunlight. It was strange, but it was pleasant and the sensation made him notice his closer surroundings slower. But when he did, it was another shock. White was just not a colour he ever saw, not in Tarn, not in the mines… but everything in this place was white and clean and sparkling in the sunlight, the elegant, tall buildings totally different than the squatting, low and dark barracks of Tarn, the run-down factories billowing smoke and the cramped, crooked, dirty streets among them. 

Here, everything was new, clean and decorated in some way that had nothing to do with functionality. Streets ran in every direction, straight and wide with colourful vehicles driving on them in neat rows. Rows of clean windows mirrored the sky on white-plastered buildings that completely lacked crude graffiti and dirt but had little towers, balconies and other things on them that he had no words for. There were various storefronts all over the lower levels stuffed with myriads of goods and mecha moving about on walkways who looked clean, colourfully painted and well-fed. 

“Follow me and don’t stop! Ohh… you’ve never been to Iacon, I take it…?”

Slag. He caused the noblemech stop and having to turn back for him. D-16 tore his optics away from the amazing sights with some difficulty – he could have marveled for joors - and shook his helm. The noblemech had his servos on his hips, strangely shaped helm nodded to one side… but he didn’t look angry, more like not knowing what to do with him. D-16 was relieved and he answered aloud to the clearly voiced question. This mech appeared a tiny bit less disgusted by him and a bit more patient than the first.

“I’ve… never. I apologize.”

“You have a problem with your vocalizer?” the noblemech frowned at his croaked, staticky voice “Never mind, the medics will check you soon anyway. And you can see the city later. It’s just the suburbs here anyway, nothing to see.”

These were just the… suburbs? D-16 swallowed in his dry intake tubing. Tarn didn’t really had suburbs, but the whole town was dirtier than this – he had heard a supervisor once referring to it as a slagpit. The only part of it that was different was the Main Square where the Mayor lived, the merchant’s plaza and the Temple of Primus stood. But even those were far dirtier and more run-down than these… suburb buildings. And there were places even more beautiful? And then another part of the sentence flashed into his processor and D-16 choked again… he would be checked by actual medics? For what? That particular question was getting annoying, it came up in his processor so often. Then, the other questions too just multiplied with every step he took instead of any being answered, so it was not surprising. 

“You don’t have an alt mode, right? Well, I’ve called a ground transport. Come now. Things will be explained… later.”

The small, winglike protrusions on the noble’s shoulders twitched and his wheels spun once. D-16 stared at them fascinated. Grounder alt modes had those wheels, he knew, but the mechs he knew never had such ones like… were they wings? No, they were spoilers, he remembered from a speed-race he saw a few times on the public vidscreens. So this noble was a racer. It was sleek and shimmering and…

“It’s impolite to stare.”

The noblemech’s tone was colder than before and D-16 cringed, looked down fast and worried. Still not knowing his fate, but the other appeared to be in charge of it, so he really shouldn’t make him angry. 

“Sorry.”

“Now, come on. We don’t have all orn.”

The ride in the transport was even more shocking, the sights he saw from its windows progressively more amazing – but D-16 started to be filled with how much surprise he could take one orn and he had no name for any of the places either. Soon enough the transport was swallowed up by yet another huge white building and came to a stop in a courtyard. D-16 was simply afraid of stepping out of it. The small square was paved with what looked like delicate white and pink marble pieces cut into intricate shapes and fit together with painstaking labour. It was more like art than paving and he was afraid he would damage it with his heavy pedes.

There were more mecha here too, mostly with lighter coloured plating, cleaning, picking up invisible trash, hurrying through the place with various items in arms. The blue noble cut a path through them without care and the mechs all gave him way, bowing low as he passed. D-16 lumbered after him, reminding himself from time to time to close his intakes as he marveled at the place. Inside, it was the same – or rather more elaborate, as even the walls themselves were decorated in more ways he had words for. And these were just the corridors, and there were many in the huge building, crossing and turning and leading to unknown places.

D-16 drew closer to the noble, following him, not wanting to get lost in this frighteningly sparkling maze that seemed like disapproving of him. He was fairly sure that alone, the first guard that saw him would shoot him without asking. He was totally out of place here, even his inexperienced optics could see it. What he though was clean, suddenly looked awfully dirty still. His plating was dark grey with dents, scratches and streaks of sticking dust. His joints creaked in the cool, white silence and even his pedesteps made far more noise than the noble’s, who appeared to be gliding noiselessly over the intricate floor and the servants, who moved like shadows by the walls. D-16 tried to walk with less noise, but he only succeeded to almost trip himself and the condescending glance the noblemech threw back at him almost made him angry again. 

At an unseen signal a door on their right opened up and the blue mech walked in without stopping, D-16 following his turn with a little slip. The guards remained outside, which was kind of a relief in itself, as their silent stares were starting to become threatening. At least execution was unlikely right now. Inside the room was the most normal he had seen so far, though still spacious and well-lit. No particular decorations, no elaborate floor-tiles – just a couple of nice, sturdier kind of chairs, a few cabinets and a dozen or so mechs by the opposite wall who were all staring at him with various looks of interest, wariness and contempt. No nobles, fortunately, just… average mechs. All higher castes than him, but still servants and such, the kind of mecha he’s seen before at least.

“Right. He is… D-16.” the noblemech waved him forward as he introduced D-16 to the group and vice versa “And these are the mecha who will make you… presentable.”

He couldn’t take the mystery any longer and it seemed no immediate execution or such was coming, so D-16 collected all his courage and asked with a respectful bow.

“Presentable, for… what? M’lord.”

“You will learn it soon enough. Now, you will obey to Variant, who is in charge of your… care from now on.” the noblemech pointed to a tall, green and lavender plated mech who stepped forward and bowed respectfully “He is my assistant and if you have any requests or… complaints you will address them to him.”

“I… understand.”

The noblemech left the room after an optic roll and a sigh - and D-16 still didn’t know his designation. The group of unknown mechs stared at him still, but there were differences in the glances now. One was clearly the medic as he was told – he recognized the markings even though miners never got medical care – if they were injured or damaged they either fixed themselves or got written off. Two of them, he was sure were body-artists; in the vid’s advertisements he saw that such artisans were always looking almost ridiculous with their modifications, paintings, jewelry and etchings. One looked something intellectual with the glasses, like a teacher or such. The rest, he couldn’t identify by look.

“Right. Let start him off with a thorough bath.”

D-16 still felt intimidated by the higher caste mechs, but the absence of the noble made him a bit braver. These mech could still cause him much harm, but not the way a noble could and he was ordered to tell them if he had a request, right? So he dared to bring up what was becoming an urgent issue by now:

“Umm… can I have some… fuel first?”

The tingling of a medical scan caught him by surprise and made him twitch. Another flinch shuddered through him as the pink-white mech with the medical markings spoke up suddenly, his sharp tone cutting the silence of the room and the awkwardness of the stares on both sides.

“Primus! You are down to 3 %? Why didn’t you tell it before? Vanlight, bring an assortment of low and middle grades, please.”

One of the nondescript mechs skipped out of another door and returned in a klik with a heaped platter in his servos. D-16 couldn’t help but stare and swallow hungrily. He hadn’t seen so much energon since… well, he hadn’t seen so much energon in one place ever at all. There were not only variously coloured cubes, but… even pieces of solids on it? He must be dreaming. 

“How much… is for me now?” surely there was some sort of a ration established for him, he would just have to learn how much it was. It’s like the first time, when he started in the mine, D-16 reminded himself, collecting his resolve. Don’t take anything granted, ask and learn the rules – and obey them. This was a strange place, but it still had to have rules.

“However much you need. Which, from my scan, is a lot.” the medic started to scan him again, the tingling much stronger and slower this time “Start with the low grade. Empty tanks can get upset by too rich fuel. And sit down before you collapse on the spot, for Primus’s sake!”

D-16 knew that, even if not from his own experience. Miners got exactly one kind of fuel as part of their pay in the mine, a bad-tasting, impure energon, refined locally from what they mined, but sometimes, some of them saved up enough to buy a cube of a better grade in one of the bars in town. It never really ended well. But to drink as much as he wanted…? He must have heard it wrong. He chose a chair looking sturdy enough and cautiously lowered himself onto it, wincing at the little creak it reacted to his weight.

But the main problem that he discovered soon was that he couldn’t tell which of the cubes contained a low grade. For him, they all looked impossibly clear, shimmering, of a quality that was never seen in Tarn. The different colours told him nothing. Energon crystals were purple, but the fuel ration he was familiar with was more like gray. These… light blue, pink and purple, one green and one even yellow? He just had no idea.

“I… don’t know which is… that low grade.”

Great, They were staring at him again, all of them together like he said something totally incomprehensible. D-16 squirmed. He was starting to hate these looks.

“umm…”

“What haven’t you had energon before…? No, it doesn’t matter. Here. This is standard fuel for mid-orn, called mid-grade.”

The mech called Variant came closer and with some disdain and confusion in his optics, but his tone normal enough, he pointed to the light purple cubes, then the others in order.

“The blue is low-grade, it is the weakest and the one which you should drink. The others are flavoured with additives. I think it’s best to leave those yet.”

D-16 nodded his thanks and quickly grabbed a blue cube, careful with the obviously delicate material. His servo joints were always caked with mine-dust, so his digit-coordination was not the best and he wouldn’t dare to break the vessel. He gulped a little of the energon and his optics widened at the taste. From the colour he knew that it would be different, but he just couldn’t tell how. It was, simply put… amazingly good. Marvelous. Delicious. The light, thinly flowing fluid shimmered with an inner light and lightly tingled on his glossa. D-16 simply couldn’t help pouring it all into his intake at once. He wanted to feel that tingle more and as it arrived to his tank it quickly became obvious that despite of the glorious taste, it was truly a weak cube, maybe even weaker than what they got in the mine.

“Drink more.“

He was very glad to hear that order from the medic and obeyed without hesitation. He could drink this energon forever, it was just amazing. There was plenty more on the platter and D-16’s curiosity awakened towards the rest of it, stealing interested glances at them. How would the others taste? He never knew energon could be so good, so satisfying, so… enjoyable. How would the solids taste, he pondered, the miner never knew energon could be made into solid form – well, not really true, the crystals could be eaten if one felt brave or hungry enough, though it was a killer in one’s tank and corrosive on the way down. Still, many miners crunched on some on occasions, the lighter ones that counted little in the quota. It was like snack, something to do while working. D-16 never did that, because it messed up denta like the Pit.

Two mechs came closer while he was discovering the joys of fueling with something that actually tasted good and D-16 was startled by thin, light digits rapping on his armour. He tensed up – what the slag were they doing? – but it didn’t feel like a hit or an attack. Still it was strange the way they moved around him, impatient digits testing, knocking, rapping on his plates, their faces drawn to identical, displeased frowns.

“I would throw these plates out to the nearest scrapheap!”

One of them burst out in a high, affected voice that made D-16 wince. Then the actual content came through and kicked the chair out from under him and he jumped to his pedes. The smaller, lighter mechs sprang away from his growl like frightened petrorabbits. 

“Stop it!”

Variant’s tone carried an angry order and D-16 quickly knelt, spark throbbing fearfully. Surely he would be punished for frightening these… bots, and slag, for the broken chair probably; but why would they want to divest him of his armour and throw it away? He was NOT a buymech! He would never become one! Was it what these higher ranking mecha wanted from him? He shuddered, this time with real, deep-set terror. 

“D-16, stand up… and you two, there is no changing his armour, just… well, make the most of what you can do with what he has.”

The two multicoloured mecha cowered a good way from him and looked more unhappy than frightened. One of them, the slightly taller one inched forward, agitated and D-16 stared at how he could gesticulate. The thin arms moved almost like a… like a longwall shearer’s spinning teeth. 

“But it’s… scrap! The cheapest scrap metal I’ve ever seen! It’s… rubbish! How can I make it fitting for the court, Variant? It’s an impossible task!”

For the… what? D-16 nearly froze as he processed the word. The court? What court? Whose court? Why? The prospects he couldn’t imagine just became totally incomprehensible. Was he… dreaming this chaos?

“Just… do your best, Tintin. We can exchange if something is damaged, but for now he stays the same as he came.”

Great. Now the two slim mecha looked at him like he was a nasty slime-worm fresh from under its rock. 

“Well. Let’s put him…” The braver one, Tintin looked up and directly at his optics and corrected himself with a faint scowl “… put you into a bath. Still, you… have to take off the plates to be properly cleaned. Your protoform is dirty, even your dirt is dirty!”

D-16 never took his armour off. He wasn’t even sure it came off. He never seen a mech without armour… well, aside from buymechs. His extreme reluctance must have come through, because the two mechs shared an undecipherable glance and started to explain it to him.

“Look, I’m not sure how you bathed before, and while I know one can shower with armour on, but for a thorough bath it’s imperative…”

“I… never bathed.”

The silence stretched in the room, most of the Palace mechs gaping at him while D-16 became bemused. It was like they never seen a miner before. Well. They probably haven’t.

“Umm… that is… I…” Tintin looked like he wanted to purge. Even the so far calmer Variant appeared shocked.

“Right. Stop it, everyone.” a small, black and white mech with a strange visor over his optics stepped forward whom D-16 had not paid any attention before. He though the small mech just another servant, but the sudden, sure, authoritative tone spoke of a higher ranking mecha.

“D-16, these mecha has never met a mech of your caste before, but they will not harm you in any way. Now, the thing is, we will have to make you presentable for the Prime’s court…” – the smaller mech smirked a little at D-16’s shocked gasp but didn’t give him time to react more – “… and you will eventually meet the Lord Prime himself too and it will take quite an effort. Customs here are certainly different from the mine’s, and it will be you who must adjust.”

D-16 could only shake his helm but words didn’t seem to come. He very much wanted this to be a bad recharge purge. He pinched a sensitive cable in his elbow joint and the sharp hurt unfortunately indicated that he was awake. But the black-and-white mech continued with barely a pause and he had to believe that it was not in fact a dream. He came closer, put a servo on D-16’s arm and the miner suddenly felt the danger in his field. It wasn’t targeting him, but this was not an average mech. He shuddered inside.

“Look, I know that this is a huge shock for you.” he snickered, the sudden, happy sound breaking the ice in the room and in D-16’s processor “for us too, believe me. But Lord Optimus Prime has ordered it and so it will happen. And just so you know… you have became a target of some unwanted attention as well and you know nothing of the courtly and Senate factions that want to influence you. I’m Jazz from the Prime’s Secret Service. We thought it best to take over your… let’s say education. You can… well, you must trust us and selected Enforcers only. Everymech else, especially nobles are dangerous to you.”

D-16 stood frozen, his processor nearly overheating as it was working overtime to process the information he was given and make sense of it. One thing was sure, he was way out of his depth here. Another thought on the heel of the first was the confrontation in the transport, with the two nobles, that he didn’t understand at the time. Now, it was much clearer. And the LORD PRIME himself wanted him in his court??? 

“Now, let’s get you in that bath – I can promise you it’s one of the best you can find around here. Enjoy it.”

It still wasn’t easy to be divested of armor – many of his rusted plates required the medic and some brute force to remove and it didn’t help D-16’s mental state of becoming… naked. He hated it. Hated it even when he saw the huge pool sunken into the floor, plenty big enough even for his frame and filled with steaming hot solvent. Again he had no frame of reference for it. Solvents, he knew, for they had used wetted mesh cloths to clean servos and faceplates. But so much in one place and heated even? It looked, if anything, dangerous as it steamed into the air.

It was divine, D-16 admitted himself half a breem later. The hot solvent soothed and caressed his tired protoform in a way nothing, absolutely nothing touched it before. The dissolving dust and dirt made his joints feel lighter, moving easier than ever before. The thorough scrub of the servant mechs, by finer brushes felt far, far better in the hot solvent and once he got over them touching his naked protoform, the whole experience rated better than the dirty buymechs in Tarn and almost as arousing. They had changed the solvent twice when it became murky grey and D-16 felt the disgusted glances on his naked protoform that had nothing to do with castes. 

They did insist cleaning his equipment too, to his eternal embarrassment.

And to his disappointment, the bath was just the start of a long process of making him presentable. The medic got his turn, the body artists – though fortunately Jazz vetoed most of their more ludicrous ideas of etching and jewelry and he did get back most of his armor intact – too, and the scholar with the strange lenses drilled him on proper etiquette of the kind he or his caste never needed before. By bits and pieces he learned what would it be necessary for, that he was for some reason, they avoided to explain still, he would be presented to the Prime. The best idea he could come up with was that it would be like a religious thing, like the Highest Priest of Primus meeting with a lowest class mech? After all, the caste system was inviolable, but the priests did teach that they were all His creations. 

Together with his long shift in the mine, the nervousness of the travel and the whole harrowing experience, it was a very long orn. He couldn’t see the outside, the sky going dark, as the room he was put into had no window whatsoever, but miners were never bothered by that. Joors and orns were measured artificially in the mines and it was no different here. The klik he was left alone D-16 sprawled on the nice, wide berth, for a nanoklik he appreciated the comfy padding on it - and fell into exhausted recharge.

That his recharge dreams were full of huge Primes with indistinct faces looming over him threateningly while hordes of noblemechs tried to grab or stab him had not even surprised him.


	6. Tension grows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for some of my readers thinking that I'm stalling the meeting between Megatron and Optimus. They are certainly free to pass up this chapter too, since it is still not that meeting. I have planned this fic this way and I said since it began that it will not just jump into that meeting, that I wanted to explore the whole situation that goes behind their meeting and relationship. I can promise that the next chapter is describing their meeting and will probably be published sometime the weekend.

“Senator Ratbat…” – the servant bowed low and presented a datapad demurely to the Senator he had to stop on the corridor of the Palace – “It is the nomination of the new member of the Senate.”

“Finally.”

Ratbat had no doubt that the Prime had given in to his… suggestion for the Senate. Nomech else dared to suggest a candidate after he had done so and that… _archivist_ Prime had nomech suitable either. He took the offered datapad and waved the servant away, continuing on his way towards the Senate chambers. His entourage of servants and guards dutifully followed him while they could, but they were not allowed into the main meeting hall. Ratbat went on, haughtily ignoring the security checkpoint and entered the Senate Hall itself.

It was a light orn, no serious business, no delicate issues, so barely a servoful of the Senators were around, the ones who took their duties more seriously than most. Ratbat himself made a point in attending such sessions too from time to time, so the others already in weren’t surprised by his appearance. Added bonus was that the Prime never attended these early sessions, since the priests required his presence in the first joors of the orn. In the past it had made easier to press through some laws and regulations that he knew the young and naïve fool would disapprove. 

Ratbat scowled lightly. Unfortunately that upstart fool of a Prime was less naïve lately and more apt to send mechs from his own fraction to the early sessions too, to thwart his moves if he felt like it. Yes, Dai Atlas was present with some of his Knights and a few of the traitorous nobles around him… youth did not excuse siding against one’s own caste in Ratbat’s opinion. And some of those, like Mirage of the House of Umbra disturbed him deeply for other reasons too. Now, there was a mech who was neither naïve, nor a fool at all.

That mech was still young but he would be a dangerous enemy in a few vorns, if he allowed him to grow and form connections, gather his own following… and unfortunately Ratbat couldn’t touch the mech openly, not with the Prime’s openly expressed protection. And with his curious connection to the head of the Secret Service, another commoner who rose higher than he should; Jazz. Now, Ratbat had his own trusted group of mechs whom he used for shady and dangerous actions and who were good at what they did – but even he would be a fool to go up against the likes of Jazz. That mech was danger personified and better left alone. 

Ratbat arrived to his assigned seat and was immediately surrounded by his noble followers present. They all looked nervous for some reason, though trying to hide it – probably this distasteful business with the Prime’s vision and the mech he had better see once he returned to his Palace – Task should be back by mid-orn and he had better bring that dirty miner with him. He would have barely a few orns to bend that mech to his will before the secret got out and he would have to give it up to the Enforcers.

He nearly forgot the datapad he was given. Roadrage should be notified to take his place in the Senate soonest so he would gain one more vote in a situation when one vote could be decisive in more delicate matters. Picking up the pad, he thumbed it for his encryption and started to read the text while absentmindedly nodding to a question he was asked by a fellow Sena…

“WHAT?!?”

He read it again, though the text did not change. It was a nomination of a new Senator, signed by the Prime’s personal seal – no doubt of authenticity. Then he scanned the designation in the middle with bold glyphs – no mistake, it was definitely NOT what he’d expected to see there - and the Senator swore out loud, smashing the innocent datapad into the ground. RATCHET of no house at all? The Prime’s main physician? ANOTHER SLAGGING COMMONER? A MEDIC AT THAT? It took Ratbat quite a few kliks to collect himself again, already ruing the unsightly spectacle he produced in the Senate. He shouldn’t have lost his composure, slaggitall!

“Shut up, all of you!”

That took care of his faction, who were milling around him like frightened turbochickens. Ratbat ignored the derisive and jeering smirks from the other groups in the Hall – they must have known about it already and were waiting for him to loose composure – and the servant who appeared beside him, extending another datapad towards him with trembling servos. Of course, he would have to confirm the nomination as Speaker of his faction. Ratbat refused to snarl. He had no legal way to object to the Prime’s choice and they knew it. Hitting the datapad with his seal so strongly that its screen cracked he pushed it back to the servant and considered leaving. He was so not interested in seeing yet another commoner in the Senate, making speeches of caring of the lower castes, abolishing time-honoured laws and disturbing the businesses of their betters.

But leaving so soon would be to concede defeat and right now he could not afford to do that. He would have to counterbalance the lost vote by another – and that would mean gaining another noblemech’s support from the neutral faction. It would cost him a lot, Ratbat knew… the neutrals were rich businessmecha who voted exclusively in their own interests and rarely ever contradicted the Prime without a very good reason. Religion just wasn’t their sphere of interests and while the Prime stayed in those circles, they didn’t mind reforms. And so far Optimus Prime had shrouded his reforms in the cloak of religion, very cleverly. 

Maybe… maybe he could consider approaching one of the Functionalists. They were a queer group, preaching that the place of every mecha in society was preordained by Primus with their alt-mode; which Ratbat had no problem with as such, but the theory had so many holes in it, he really couldn’t understand how intelligent mecha could believe in it. Sure, lower classes usually had utility or machinery alt-modes, and higher castes more elaborate ones… but alt mode was changeable if one had enough credits, so it was kind of pointless to base a class system on that. But regardless of their strangeness, they did believe in the caste system in their own way, so he might find allies there. 

It was still a very uncomfortable joor he decided to spend in the Senate Hall, listening to unimportant speeches and debates, pointedly ignoring the derisive smirks and remarks. He would pay them back tenfold, once he could. He would remember each and every insulting comment and… Ratbat calmed himself by some effort. No point on dwelling in those now. He would have better things to do once in his own Palace… Task should have returned by the time he arrived. The Senator rose and left the Hall, cloaked in his somewhat tattered dignity, not a single scowl answering to the quiet jeers.

Half a joor later, within the age-hallowed walls of his ancestral home, Ratbat let his carefully maintained mask slip and his displeasure show at last. Servants and guards scurried out of his way, bowing even deeper than usual, than he required them to – they knew his wrath and bore it many times before. Nomech wanted to be the one on whom it finally grounded itself. 

“Where is Task?”

“Umm… He hasn’t returned… My Lord.” 

“Still not here? What the Pit takes him so long?”

No answer came, not that he expected any. The servants could know nothing of course. Ratbat stormed into his rooms and ordered every mech out. Calming his nerves with a cube of expensive high-grade, the Senator sat down at his desk, but pushed all the datapads away. He couldn’t work in this mood, still fuming from the Senate fiasco and lacking the mech he was so eager to break. It wasn’t surprising that when Sentinel cautiously inched into the room he snarled at the mech angrily.

“What do you want?”

“M-my Lord…”

He had no patience for the mech’s prattle now. Sentinel was ambitious and fairly intelligent too, but he loved to talk and boast about himself. For the info he brought, he expected quite a lot in return…

“What is it?”

“L-lord T-task…”

“Has he returned? Where is he?”

Finally! He could almost forgive Sentinel this strange stutter he had developed for some reason.

“N-no, My Lord… he sent a… message.”

“A message? What message?”

“He… umm, Lord Task decided to go on an offworld journey, effective immediately.”

“WHAT?” Ratbat froze as he started to stand up, processor heating up dangerously in anger.

“L-lord Mirage has taken custody of the… miner. H-he couldn’t stop him.”

“Impossible!!! You must… how? Incompetent fools! I’m ruined! I… I…”

The thrown cube shattered on Sentinel’s helm, the expensive energon splashing his cowering form, the shards falling around him.

“It wasn’t me, My Lord! I…”

“Shut up!”

A datapad followed the cube, denting the obnoxious mech’s helm who finally stopped babbling apologies and turned tail to escape from the room. Ratbat let his rage flow freely. Later, he would regret breaking so many expensive things, but for now, he had to do this. 

“You’re fired! It was an idiot advice and you are a fool! Incompetent, stupid upstart!”

He would make sure the mech would never, ever got any public office whatsoever. Task, he could punish when the idiot came back, hoping he would forget – but Sentinel was totally unnecessary now. Dangerous even, if he could testify against him. Fortunately, the mech compromised himself with the Enforcers already, so nomech would ever believe him again. 

“GET OUT!!!”

Sentinel was gone from his room, but it calmed the Senator not one bit. Servants avoided him like he had the rust plague and probably sent the new mech to him with the bad news, knowing he would be the scapegoat. No matter. 

Ratbat continued to rage.

-o-o-o-

“Exactly how will we arrange this affair?”

“It depends. What is the Prime’s wish?”

“Lord Optimus wishes to meet him as soon as possible.”

“But how? Publicly? In full court?”

“That would be, khmmm, unwise.”

“Why, Jazz?”

“I guess neither of ya has any idea what a miner is, right?”

The mechs present looked at each other bemused and back to the secret agent. Ultra Magnus shrugged and was resigned to ask what he meant. He was still smarting a bit that his own assistant betrayed him and also that he was looking for the mech completely the wrong place – the Lord Prime’s confusion when he showed him the pictures of various military mecha they thought to fit the description was nearly palpable – and consequently Jazz had to step in and rescue the miner from Lord Ratbat’s malicious servos. 

“What do you mean? Obviously, he is low caste, we knew that.”

“Being a low caste is just an abstract idea to you all, right? I’ll tell you that D-16 won’t be ready for a public ceremony any time soon. My mechs are trying to bring him up to speed but… again, none of ya have any idea just how much he needs to learn. Well, Ratchet might. Congratulations, by the way, _Senator_.”

Optimus Prime’s secret council, the one he turned to for real, the one he kept for advice and friendship, was treated to a rare sight – the Prime’s Physician blushing ever so slightly. 

“Thank you, Jazz. You may have Ratbat on a platter, I certainly wouldn’t miss him from the Senate. And yes, I used to treat a lot of low caste mechs, though particularly miners not that often.”

“But the rest of ya? He doesn’t have a designation and never bathed before. He’s afraid of open places and lots of mecha. He was conditioned to kneel at the sight of any higher caste. That, coincidentally includes the whole of Iacon, by the by. He can barely speak and not only because his vocalizer was slag – we fixed that -, but also his vocabulary can maybe fill a page or two. He is clumsier than a glitched drone, because he was used to mine-dust nearly cementing his joints and now that it’s washed out, oiled and treated… now he swings those heavy arms like a battering ram.”

Jazz grimaced and rubbed the still tender spot on his shoulder plating. D-16 was frantic at his blunder and absolutely sure that he would be tortured and executed on the spot, despite of the slim rapport they had built up by that time. It took them several joors to convince him that he wouldn’t be punished for an accident so he could stop cowering and prostrating himself on the ground. And Jazz knew that such accidents would be inevitable for a long time still. Graceful D-16 was definitely not and it wasn’t like Jazz could blame him for it. The miner wasn’t even aware of how dreadful condition he used to be framewise.

“We managed to funnel some etiquette into him and he seems to be able to learn it, but considering his size and clumsiness, a public introduction is strongly discouraged.”

Unspoken was the consent among them that any accident or blunder would reflect badly on Optimus Prime, not the nameless miner and that it was something they absolutely could not allow. 

“Right.” Ultra Magnus still looked a bit shocked, but he could concede when he was out of his depth “Let’s make it a private meeting then.”

“Can’t do that” – Dai Atlas grumbled displeased – “since we framed it as a religious event and in a way it is, since the vision came from Primus. The news is all over the Palace now and we can’t afford to lose the support of the priesthood and the more religious of the nobility.”

“Like your Order, ehh?”

“My Knights can make up their processors.” Dai Atlas was unruffled by Jazz’s needling.

“But what is your stance on this?”

The big triplechangers was silent for a klik, but his glance to Jazz was not angry when he answered, rather thoughtful and somewhat sheepish.

“I have never disputed the will of Primus and the Matrix has usually conveyed it adequately, with the Prime acting on it flawlessly so far. While an actual… _miner_ came as a surprise, it must be mentioned that… my Sword has a generally hopeful feel of the whole thing.”

Jazz put up an interested brow plate and glanced at the jewel in the Great Sword’s hilt, just visible over the big mech’s shoulder guard - but he let the other finish his statement.

“The Great Swords have a slim connection to Primus too, though far-far less than the Matrix or other known artifacts. Still, this time, they seem to… approve of the actual event and how things are developing. I also got similar reports from other temples and Orders where artifacts like the Omega Keys are kept. Miner or not, we must do our best to make it possible for him to connect with the Lord Prime. The sense of importance is also very strong in connection to him. Also, that this matter is very delicate at the same time. There is a truly important vortex in the space-time continuum and we, none of us, may fail.”

It was probably the longest speech Jazz heard of Dai Atlas in the secret council, and certainly the most passionate. He was also the most open about the mysterious Great Swords ever, further proving his conviction. 

“So we will have no problem from the Priesthood – so far as we keep them notified?”

“That is right. But it means at least some Priests must be present at the meeting. The more, the better. I will put forward designations whom I advocate.”

“Right. So a small court with mostly Priests? Neither a private meeting, nor a really public event.”

Jazz nodded to himself. A smaller court was always better for safety reasons and the Priesthood, barring a few old-school conservatives, generally supported the Prime. 

“What about the Senate and the nobility? How do they take the news?”

“Ohh, the more gets out, the more in uproar they are” – Ratchet snorted – “I swear it’s actually getting funny. Ratbat wasn’t seen in a decaorn…” - Jazz’s smile was downright nasty and the medic lifted a brow plate – “…and his faction is in disarray. It helps a lot to explain our stance on matters. The religious angle does too.” He nodded to Dai Atlas who took over the topic again.

“We have stressed that the old position of the Lord High Protector is not even considered for him. Traditionally that is what a Prime’s bondmate should be, but D-16 is obviously not fit to that position. It makes a lot of the nobles happier, especially in the military, but also in the Senate. That position traditionally gets a seat in the Senate and not one of them, not even the ones in our side would accept an uneducated miner there.”

“So… what position will he get?”

“None so far. He is a ‘ _special guest_ ’ of the Prime for the time being. Anything more must be in the future and the Prime must decide it.”

“Sensible.” Jazz murmured. So far as the nobles didn’t feel threatened by a low-caste mech taking over their vaunted positions, they could act more freely. The miner was so low a caste that they simply weren’t afraid of him the same way they had felt threatened by an archivist turning Prime. 

“But it must happen soon,” – Ratchet leaned forward – “because Optimus is getting impatient. If you stall for much longer, Jazz, he might just sneaks out and finds this miner for himself. And we wouldn’t want that either, now, would we?”

Jazz shuddered a bit. The Prime sneaking out had, in the past had produced quite unwanted results, had the Palace in uproar for groons and his agents were doing mop-up for even longer. 

“I do not stall. He’ll be ready next orn if we must hurry this…?”

“I’m afraid we do. Have you heard Optimus ranting lately…?”

Jazz’s tic in the visor told them that he indeed heard it. 

“Then two orns from now, in the small throne chamber? Dai Atlas, you can notify the Priests attending by then?”

“Of course.”

“Then, we are all set?”

Nods answered from all around the table.

“All right. Let’s get this tr…”

“Please, Jazz, don’t even think of saying _train wreck_.”


	7. A Prime and a Miner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited meeting... I hope it lives up to most expectations. :-)

“He’s here, Lord Prime.”

Optimus was silently angry and with these mechs he didn’t even care if it showed. Jazz didn’t mind it, since he claimed to delay this meeting for his benefit. Ultra Magnus was still embarrassed that he was slow to find the mech and still angry – as much enraged as he ever got – that his own assistant sold out the information to Ratbat and endangered the mech. But neither of them felt it urgent to notify their Prime that the mech he ordered to find was in fact in the Palace for several orns and Optimus intended to show his disapproval for that. He had learned that even the inscrutable Jazz twitched a little if he looked at them dissapointed. 

“Well, let him in!”

“Lord Prime… he is, umm…”

“What?”

“We want to give you a little information about him first. It will help, My Lord, I can assure you.” Jazz cut in smoothly into Ultra Magnus’s hesitant stutter “He is very low caste, a miner. We had difficulties even to understand his problems with being here and he has many.”

“What problems? I gave orders not to harass him!”

“Optimus… umm, Lord Prime, it’s not that. He’s… well, barely articulate and definitely not literate. Along with other, ummm, shortcomings and disadvantages. He is very… simple.”

Optimus stared at Jazz for a klik, not even blinking, his whole emotional roiling and thought processes suddenly stopping. Then he stood up suddenly, causing the other two to jump to their pedes too and back off from his range of motion – and went to the nearest window, staring out at the lavish garden underneath it without seeing the crystals. This was something he didn’t expect and he was unconsciously already questioning the Matrix for answers, explanations… but the artifact was completely silent. He was on his own with this.

Optimus Prime, or even Orion Pax for that matter, knew very little about miners. Iacon had no mines and his work before the Primacy had not caused him to look up this particular caste ever. He knew what cities mined what resources, he had seen statistics about production, demand and taxes… but actual mines were in the property of certain nobles or conglomerates and he never had a cause to enquire about the miner caste in particular. All he knew was that it was a very low one. Theoretically he knew that it meant no education and probably a very simple lifestyle – if not outright crude and lacking – but never thought about the details of it before. Maybe he should have. 

Optimus sighed and turned back. He had to make it work, no matter what this mech was like or how his caste lived.

“So… I’ve been warned. Anything else? What’s his designation, by the way or is that something I shouldn’t know… _for my own good_???”

He was interested to note the two mecha glancing at each other, like both saying – ‘you be the one to tell him’. At the end it was Ultra Magnus who spoke up.

“My Lord, he has an ID only. D-16. We learned that miners don’t get to pick designations.”

“What?!?” Optimus’s shock quickly turned into outrage and the Matrix roiling uneasily didn’t help his mood “There are mecha on Cybertron who don’t even get to have… names?”

He was at least satisfied that his two chief confidantes appeared to agree with him that it was not a good thing. Jazz was unreadable as usual, but his field was dark, while Ultra Magnus looked more openly disapproving as he nodded, confirming his worst fears. Optimus sighed and his anger subsided. These were not the mecha he would have to convince or force to see reason.

“This will be changed. I don’t care why is it so, but it must not continue. It appears I have a lot to learn about those castes still. Now, let him in.”

Optimus ignored the High Priests silently filing in and stand to the sides, just as he ignored his advisors who also retreated a few steps. He wanted to concentrate on the mech he had seen only as a faint vision so far, but who would become his... bondmate.

Two more Priests flanked a taller mech through the doorway, their gem-encrusted, colourful plating in a stark contrast to the base, grey metal of the third. He was tall and heavyset, his simple, bare-metal and crude armour obviously withstanding all effort to wax or polish and looked plain. The heavy, bucketlike helm was bowed so low he couldn’t see his face and optics at all. The pedesteps nearly shook the delicate flooring with their owner’s weight, all the more contrasting to the Priests’ silent, gliding steps. Subtle tremors shook some of the stark metallic plates and strong servos tightened into nervous fists before relaxing and tightening again.

Despite of all the obvious effort to make him presentable, the mech looked so… ordinary that Optimus nearly smiled. He could only imagine the effort his staff must have put into it – he remembered the first few vorns of his own Primacy, mecha bemoaning his lack of interest in bejeweled capes and strange-smelling waxes… but then the Priests nudged the mech forward and Optimus returned to the present fast to see them push the miner down, to his knee-joints.

“Stop it! Leave him be.” 

Optimus hated his throne-like raised chairs. They were all right to intimidate recalcitrant nobles from their height, but awful to put simpler mecha to ease. Like now… by the time he stood and traversed the steps down, the grey mech was already kneeling, helm on the floor and subtle tremors shaking his frame. Frightened, most likely. Taken from his place, intimidated and probably threatened. Optimus hated it, but his servos were bound by tradition – he couldn’t just go and get the mech himself. Now he would have to set things right…

“Stand, please. There is no need to kneel…”

He reached the bottom of the dais and leaned down to help the mech up. Two of the guards were there too at once, grabbing gray shoulders and yanking him to his pedes, while the Priests’ shocked protests about protocol and etiquette echoed in the chamber. 

“For Primus’s sake…!”

“Let them!” he heard Jazz’s voice in the background and fleetingly felt thankful to the mech “Primus, you know, the God you serve, ordered it, who are you to override Him and tell what’s _appropriate_?”

The miner let himself mechhandled by the guards, obviously still far too frightened to protest, but the guards understood his angry gesture to leave them be and backed off a little. D-16 stumbled halfway standing up and automatically reached out with a servo to steady himself. It was met with Optimus’s own, reaching out for the same reason. The heavy helm rose a bit and from under its crudely forged edge a pair of slanted, red optics peered at him. Uncertainty, fear and some resentment even was that swirled in their depths and from up close as they were Optimus saw even the lighter band of the focusing ring rotating to take him in. Fear overwhelmed the rest at their closeness and he tried to duck his helm again, trying for the motions of etiquette trained into him, tried to withdraw his servo from Optimus’s grip…

… but Optimus had no wish to let the servo go, not yet. The grip was strong, the dark digits sharp and clawlike in contrast to his own blunt, short and brightly coloured ones. Yet their grip felt somehow fine for Optimus, natural, the strength not dangerous, not fearful, not wrought with anything else – just two mecha holding onto each other. Optimus straightened up and gently pulled the other fully upright with him. He didn’t want a kneeling, bowing, cowering miner, he wanted to see the mech himself.

“I am glad to meet you at last.”

Slowly they stood more or less straight, the nervous guards and outraged priests helpless around them – none of them would dare to break their _inappropriate_ grip, their connection; their own ingrained reverence for the Prime was binding their actions. Optimus was delighted to see the miner a tiny bit even taller than himself – before the very same thing must have been realized by him and grey shoulders slumped a bit to stop himself towering over the Prime… red optics swirled strangely, fear and interest swamping it in turns and the moment seemed to stretch into eternity…

-o-o-o-

D-16 had no idea what to expect, what was to come. Looking back to it, the bath, the medical check-up, the wax and polish was nice. His frame felt great in a way it had never before. Joints moved easily, dents disappeared, minor damages he hadn't been aware of were fixed. If higher castes had this as an everyorn thing, he might, deep down of course, be jealous of it. How much easier his job would be with his frame working so well, instead of the creaking, unwieldy thing it was before – and he never even realized it! The only thing he hated and tried even to stop them from doing was to file down his sharp dentae. Of course unsuccessfully and it still ached like the Pit. D-16 ran his glossa over the even row now and felt the strange smoothness there. He wasn’t sure if the fangs would grow back or not, but for now his mouth felt… empty. Wrong somehow. But it wasn’t his biggest worry.

He would meet THE PRIME!

D-16 still stumbled upon the words in his processor. They were unbelievable, inconceivable. Wrong, even. What would he do? He kind of felt thankful for the protocol they drilled into him, that at least was something he could fall back on. Look down, don’t speak, unless asked, kneel, unless told not to, and generally consider THE PRIME like he was PRIMUS Himself. They gave up teaching him any more elaborate bowing and scraping and curtsies, because his frame and limbs it appeared just didn’t bend in quite those ways. He felt as ridiculous as he must have looked, because even the etiquette-teacher just sighed and told him to stop, while Jazz cackled himself silly in the background and he didn't dare to scowl.

He will soon meet THE PRIME!

The corridors seemed endless in this Palace. D-16 was totally lost as he was nudged to yet another turn, through yet another doorway, across the third small, elaborate courtyard where he, in his nervousness couldn’t even see the glorious sunshine that so fascinated him. The two Priests beside him were cold and aloof and obviously disapproving of him. But they led him with a cold determination, while the guards changed at every section of the Palace. The only sign that they were nearing to their goal was that even the corridors became richer – something he at first thought impossible – and there were a lot more guards around. 

He will meet THE PRIME!

“Stop here!”

The door ahead of him was about three-storeys high and wide enough for a mine excavator and it looked as though it might have been made of solid Cybertronium. It probably was, he amended in his processor, focusing on the thing he understood instead of the others that made him freeze up mentally. Metals, he knew, Cybertronium being the rarest and most valuable of them. Finding its tiny pockets of ore was a small fortune in itself in any mine he had worked in. And this door might have weighed several hundred tons of it, its surface full of elaborate, detailed bas-relief of scenes depicting mecha in war, in ruling, in prayer… probably Primes.

On the other side of it he would meet a living one, a real PRIME.

D-16’s tank nearly flipped and the recently drank fine energon roiled uneasily in it. His spark throbbed fearfully and some of his plates shook, trembling in fear he couldn’t deny. He was afraid. No matter the assurances, he still didn’t know why he was brought here and until he didn’t know it, anything was possible. True, they went to a lot of effort if he was just… tortured or executed, but who knew what strange perversion the nobles cooked up? They said the Prime just wanted to meet him and talk. But what would the PRIME want to discuss with a miner like him? Why?

The huge, heavy doors swung outward in eerie silence, revealing an large, lavishly decorated chamber. He saw the raised dais with the throne and a colourful frame sitting on it stately… before conditioning made him lower his glance to the elaborate floor. His tank was doing flip-flops. His pedes rang loudly on the mosaic-floor, echoing in the empty, frozen wasteland of his processor. There were some whispered, low words he could barely hear in the background, but a roar arose in his audials and he couldn’t discern them. The throne became closer and closer every shaking step he took. 

“Down!” D-16 heard the hissed order in his audials before his knee-joints folded automatically and he was pressed down at the base of the dais by smaller servos too. 

“Stop it! Leave him be.” 

The words came from the front and up, the tone deep and gentle, despite of the order. THE PRIME!

The same servos that pushed him down were now yanking him up, to his pedes. D-16 was overwhelmed and confused and stumbled as the servos left and he was suddenly alone… except for the tall mech who came down the dais and was now holding his servo that he threw out to regain his balance. THE PRIME! He was… leaning on the Prime? The contact nearly burned. The idea caused errors in his processor and fear in his spark. D-16 tried to pull back, to stop touching the Prime… but the other didn’t let his servo go. 

He risked a glance at him. Fear was still making static sizzle at the outside of his vision, but the Prime was close and their optics met and D-16 suddenly forgot every worry and fear and stared into blue depths and promptly sank. His own thought and fears were unimportant. That something… that bright light that shone out of those blue depths was… Primus. Primus! But not only Primus… a mech too, one that wore that strangely smooth, unmarked, unscarred, silvery face, who had an almost-smile on those thin lips and a kind look… the Prime.

D-16 was confused still. Fear came in crashing waves but between them he felt… curiosity. Something he probably shouldn’t, but the Prime was a mech too, his servo felt warm and strong, his optics strange, Iacon blue, his red-blue frame lean and just a bit shorter than his… and a bout of fear suffused him again and made him slump a bit, because suddenly being taller than the Prime felt disrespectful, wrong somehow. Even though he was taller than anymech in the Palace so far… 

“No… look at me.”

The blunt digits still held his servo and D-16 dared not to move it, for fear of harming him. He had been so sure they would punish him for that accidental swing at Jazz… but if he harmed THE PRIME, he was sure that the guards would not take it nearly so calmly. He glanced at him again. It gave D-16 a tiny bit of relief that he saw hesitation flickering in blue optics. At least he was not the only one feeling strange in the situation. He fell back to what he was told to do…

“Praise be unto you, Lord Optimus Prime, Chosen of…”

Wow, he actually remembered the words correctly they taught him for so long. 

“Stop that.” the gentle tone actually held a grain of anger and D-16 cringed and clamped his vocalizer shut “I do not know what others have told you, but I don’t need empty adulation. Actually… what is it that you were told?”

D-16 risked another glance up. The Prime did look angry, but if the sideways flash of blue was any indication it was not at him. ‘ _Don’t speak, unless asked_ ’ – well, he was definitely asked now. 

“Not… much, Lord Prime. That I was… to meet you… your Lordship?”

“But not why, right?”

“N-no… M’Lord.”

The debilitating fear that he started to hate was dissipating, like something through their still connected servos drew it out of him. It was such a real feeling though it must have been his imagination. But the Prime’s servo was warm and welcoming and friendly like nothing else he had met so far and a force pulsed in it that was not physical power. No, though the Prime’s frame was strong, like none of the nobles around here were strong, but it wasn’t what he sensed. It was a curiosity that shone from deep inside and… 

“It’s the Matrix.”

He glanced up without fear this time as the Prime answered his unasked question, what he wouldn’t dare to ask, even if he was allowed to. But it made sense. The Matrix was what made a mech Prime, this much everyone on Cybertron knew. To sense it… should be normal from this close, touching even.

“It told me about you.”

“Me?” shock tore through his frozen subservience and D-16 did not lower his glance this time, wide, red optics held fast by calm blue ones. There was so much in those optics, he could watch them fascinated all joor.

“It is why you’re here. Primus knows you… and told me in no uncertain terms that I, too must learn to know you.”

There was a wry, self-deprecating half-smile on the Prime’s lips that was surprisingly… normal and calming. D-16 felt bolder than any time since his designation was shouted at the mine exit. The other mechs in the chamber might not even exist for the attention they paid to them.

“But… I’m… nothing!”

“Not yet.” the half-smile melted away and something far more serious took its place on silvery faceplates “But you have potential. I should not tell you all what the Matrix showed me, because it is future and future is not written yet – but I want to see that potential used well.”

“I… serve you, My Lord… however I can. But I’m just a miner.”

D-16 was still confused, even though the fear was abating and his processor felt less like a frozen block of metal fit to a drone. That he had this… _potential_ thing and that future bit, he didn’t quite understand and why the Prime would need somemech like him when he had so many who knew far more than him…

“You were sparked as a miner, I know. But I believe you can be more, you can be anything.”

The Priests’ gasps were scandalized this time and the Prime lifted his regal helm and looked at them sharply, with brow-plates in a frown. D-16 quaked in his armour just from imagining that displeased glance focused at him. 

“Primus Himself declared that he can be more, so you have no place to dispute it!”

The Priests bowed, but their field remained conflicted. D-16 could understand them, he really did. He felt the same. Why would Primus declare a miner to be… to become something else? Why was he not sparked into a different caste then, a higher one, who could choose their profession? But there was no way he would confront or question The Prime over it...

“What do you think?”

“I never wanted to be other than a miner… M’Lord.”

“Never? Not even as a fantasy, a recharge dream?”

Should he say it? Dare he say it to the Prime with the gentle optics and calm field and the Matrix shining out of his optics sometimes? He was asked. He should answer. But only a low whisper came out of his vocalizer, it felt ridiculous to say out loud. He barely remembered it himself... still...

“I… did. Used to.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“N-no… M’Lord.”

He didn’t ask what and D-16 was inordinately glad for that small mercy. He buried those early dreams a long time ago under endless toil and forgot them. His future was in the mine. Or so he had thought… but here he was, in Iacon, in the throne chamber of the Primal Palace and The Prime was holding his servo still, like nomech else did before. Well, other than D-15 a few times. But that was different. Wasn’t it? 

“Can you now believe that Primus said – through me – that He doesn't need you as a miner any more? Can you believe me that He needs you as something else?”

“For what?” D-16 cried out distraught. He heard the sharp hisses as the Priests expressed their displeasure, but his attention was on the Prime and his reaction was the only thing that mattered now. 

“Don't be afraid. You'll understand. You'll learn. I will help.”

The Prime remained calm and not even his shout caused a reaction in his calm, smiling face. But he did change the subject.

“I learned that you have no designation… D-16? How is that so?”

The Prime’s tone was bemused and disturbed by it, D-16 could tell.

“We… all miners are constructed in batches. I was the 16th in the ‘D’ series of miners to be brought online in Tarn.”

“And you never… picked a designation? Why?”

“N-no… I was told… that it was my ID. It’s encoded into my tracking chip. Nomech told us about designations.”

D-16 pointed to his right wrist of the servo the Prime was still holding. The chip being inserted was about the first thing he remembered after onlining in that shining light he still saw in every sun-ray. He thought every mech had one and consequently he didn’t understand the sudden, angry wave of the Prime’s field.

“Tracking chip?” then, like he suddenly had a revelation, he continued in a lighter tone – “Is it to find you in… like when the mine collapses or something?”

“Noone searches for miners if the mine collapses. M’Lord. It is… used by the mine staff to keep track that we do our shifts and take rations… and things like that.”

There was anger in the blue optics now but again, the sideways flash of it told D-16 again that it wasn’t at him, that it wouldn’t be him who would have to answer something later. He was very glad that it was so. Even though The Prime was nothing he had expected, he was powerful and D-16 wouldn’t want to be in his path if angered. 

“I see. It seems there is a lot I have not known about miners. A lot I have not been told. I hope you will help me out in this.”

D-16 couldn't imagine why it would interest the Prime. Mines were dirty and dangerous, miners were low-caste and crude. Nothing could be farther from The Prime of Cybertron. But he also couldn't imagine saying no to the Prime... and why should he? 

“I will... M'Lord.”

The blue optics, indeed the whole face was smiling in answer. It nearly overwhelmed D-16. 

“After all, we will meet a lot from now on.”

“We... will?” - so it wasn't just a one-time meeting and he wouldn't be allowed to go back?

“You weren't told this either? No matter... you will stay in the Palace, in fact the chambers next to mine.” D-16 froze completely, but the Prime continued “They are quite nice, I assure you. I hope that you will get used to it soon... anything you wish for, your possessions can be brought too. And of course you can visit your... friends later, if you would like? But mostly you will live here.”

It was too much at once and D-16 struggled gamely to take it all in and process. Fortunately the Prime finally let his servo go and he could shuffle a little backwards, away from the... intensity of the Prime's gaze. It was a little more bearable from there. 

“As you wish... Lord Prime...”

“I know it is all new and probably sounds frightening... but you have nothing to fear.” 

There was something like a shadow flashing through the silver face but the Prime's tone remained light and gentle.

“Hopefully we can talk more later, when you are a bit more... used to the new place and your new role. Anything you need, just ask.”

D-16 felt that the audience was over. But the Prime's optics caught his for one last time... and there was a promise in them now, a promise just between the two of them for more, later. What, he didn't know, but it gave him a little spark of hope. The Prime wasn't anything he had expected, he wasn't like anymech in the Palace he saw so far. He said a lot of shocking things... and left a lot else unsaid too. Maybe later he would learn those too. Apparently... it was up to him now.

“Thank you, Lord Prime. I... will.”

He was led out of the chamber by a slightly bemused-looking Jazz and the disapproving, stiff Priests. Their way back was much shorter than the way here, confirming what the Prime said about keeping him close. Jazz left him in a set of rooms with a promise of returning next orn and to have a good recharge after a long orn. He even sounded serious. 

D-16 hesitantly looked around in the room – a conglomerate of several rooms and balconies and washracks really - he was left alone in and his processor promptly refused to label it as *his*. It was way too opulent and rich, he was afraid to touch nearly everything and he fit it like a rusted bolt would a new T-cog. Cautiously he made his way towards the huge windows, where the setting sun's rays cast bright, warm light in, painting abstract, golden patches to the mosaic floor. There were some sort of gardens beyond it, but D-16 was in no mood for those, not yet, and he also firmly ignored the inconspicuous door he was told that lead to the Prime's chambers and why it would do so. 

He slowly lowered himself onto the polished floor at one such light-patch, sat with his knee-joints pulled up and his arms around them... and let the inner trembling he so far forced back shake his plating all over. 

Joors later D-16 woke up stiffly to velvety blackness in the room that was broken only by faint flickers of light from the outside – and nearly silent steps, a mech moving in the dark towards him.


	8. More plots and more mecha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Cliffhanger is hanging for a little while more yet. Sorry. :-)
> 
> \- Many thanks for the help of erbor on tumblr, who pointed out some of my inconsistent and erroneous usage of punctuation and grammar - I'm always glad that I can improve, because it means my fics get better too. :-)

The Command deck of the newly commissioned starship Nemesis was full of awkward fields and unasked questions. Most wings were held unnaturally still while awaiting for the Sky Commander’s reaction, their owners industriously working on their consoles and only stealing small glances at the dark frame of their commander and his SIC. The familiar starfield of the Cybertron solar system floated unnoticed around them in the viewports.

“What the slag was that?”

Dreadwing shrugged at his twin's agitated question that broke the tense silence. Skyquake was enraged that the Enforcers demanded information from them and he was the first to explode outwardly – civilian police had no authority over the military, much less grounders over the Air Force!

“I don't really care. Enforcers are strange, grounders doubly so. Let them look at pictures.”

“True, but they have never asked for... photos of certain commanders. I wonder what do they want with those.”

“What they asked for... all look similar.”

It was Starscream interrupting them, an ambitious Seeker who was quickly rising through the ranks and annoying his superiors with his know-it-all attitude. But he had talent, that much they all acknowledged in the air and in strategic planning. Dreadwing looked at the younger flier sitting by a console, white wings held still.

“Like what?”

“Base metal, silver or grey plating with little decoration.” Starscream noted it, because he himself fit that description too and was consequently included in the information packet they sent over to the Chief Enforcer's office “Also, there are strange rumours going on about that description.”

Both twins turned their full attention towards the slimmer Seeker at that. The mech had interesting connections outside the military and was always a good source of information. It was partly why he rose so quickly through the ranks...

“What kind of rumours?”

“That the Prime is interested in this mech. Some kind of a vision involving him. A lot of mecha are looking for him right now.”

Dreadwing and Skyquake glanced at each other. Primes, the religious and strictly civilian leaders were rarely interested in the military that operated independently from the rest of the government; the only exception being when a Prime choose a Lord Protector to be his military Commander. Dreadwing hissed in annoyance.

“That would piss off Commander Trypticon greatly.” Starscream quipped amusedly; apparently he thought the same as the Sky Commander and was his usual obnoxious self expressing it. 

“Not your concern, _Squadron Leader_.”

Skyquake flared his wings at the lower ranked Seeker and growled when Starscream failed to drop his fast enough. Dreadwing waved his twin and SIC down. He didn't like the upstart Seeker any more than Skyquake, but this time he was right. If the Prime choose a new Lord Protector – which hadn't happened for generations – then the military Supreme Command was sure to change and Commander Trypticon would not take that lightly. Things could go south and the Air Force would surely be involved. Especially as some might be involved..

“Let me see exactly who was on that list.”

Starscream, still scowling and hiding his smarting pride badly, pulled up the list of military mecha the Enforcers requested pictures of on his screen and Dreadwing stood behind him reading it through, with more care than at the first time.

“Mostly rank and file, _Sky Commander_. I myself appear to be the highest ranking on the list.”

Dreadwing refused to sigh at the subtly flared wings. Starscream was obnoxious enough without this... whatever this was. Though... if there was even a slim chance of him being a candidate for Primus knew what, then he would have to hold his twin back before he alienated the ambitious Seeker completely and ruined both their career. A Seeker Supreme Commander... that would be a rare thing indeed. But it was a very long shot still.

“Might be useful to see if you can gain more information, Starscream, straight from the source. How would you like to have a short leave to Cybertron in the near future?”

He saw the shrewd optics flash victoriously at him before Starscream collected himself and nodded, wings flaring behind him excitedly. It reminded Dreadwing that despite of his rank and competence, the slim Seeker was still quite young. 

“Excellent. You may leave at any time.”

-o-o-o-

Starscream landed on the tarmac of Iacon's airfield, slowly transforming up among the nonsentient passenger shuttles and made his way into the city. He would not be allowed to fly within the city limits, the Seeker knew – his position as military gave him a little protection, but not much, as he knew well from earlier experiences. He was a lot less sure about himself now than he showed back at Sky Command. Though he put himself on that strange list, he knew that he wasn't a large framed mech by any stretch of the word – maybe smaller grounders would call him big, but in fact he was rather moderate sized among the Seekers. But it was still an opportunity to get close to the fire, gather connections and maybe gain some advance in rank too. 

But truth to be told his sources were slim and barely gave him more than a few designations and hints – anything else he would have to work out for himself. Starscream went over the designations in his helm once more, while he sat in the public transport vehicle with wings held high and his faceplates haughty, ignoring the grounders' glances.

 _Ratbat_ , high noble, Senator. Influential and always out for more support, but dangerous, sometimes acting foolishly and not in the Prime's favor. Risky and hard to approach. Prejudiced and hates military.

 _Ultra Magnus_ , chief enforcer. Stickler to rules, not playing at politics and not trusting Seekers. Only approach him as last chance.

 _Jazz_ , commoner, secret service. Highly dangerous, but in the Prime's favor and considered trustworthy if dealt fairly. Risky, but promising more than Ratbat. Risky emphasised by all sources.

 _Soundwave_ , commoner, attendant to the Senate, Communications specialist, rumoured to be spying for unknown agent. Highly dangerous but a growing force. No rank or title, which should make him a natural ally.

It was obvious whom he would choose. 

His rank got him through the first, outer checkpoint to the Palace and into a small office where harried grounders dealt with the non-tourist visitors that had no admission cards issued yet.

“I am supposed to contact with Comms Specialist Soundwave.”

“Well, why don’t you comm him?”

The grounder might have intended that as a joke, considering Soundwave’s field, but Starscream was not amused and his wings showed that to any who could read them. Too bad that the faded blue-black grounder was not among these.

“In person.” Starscream made do with the driest and screechiest tone he could manage.

“On what business?”

“Military enquiry. Sky Commander Dreadwing’s authority.”

“I got no such request transmitted.”

“Well, the Sky Commander would not request it from _you_ , obviously.”

Starscream was playing on the usual grounder-flier friction and he got it right. The mech scowled deeply and looked pissed off, but he huffed after a breem and wordlessly he pushed an admission card to Starscream. 

“Valid to the Communications Center only. Don’t wander, _Seeker_ , Security is on alert.”

Starscream’s wing twitch was downright rude, since he now knew the mech unable to read it. He took the card and left the tiny office. Grounders!

Soundwave, at least was attentive and willing to play along for whatever reason. The mech spoke very little, but he was willing to go along with Starscream’s little subterfuge and agreed to a drink later that evening in a nearby oil-house. He also indicated that he knew about the list Starscream mentioned and willing to share information about it. 

Starscream stepped out from the Palace satisfied and almost jumped to the air, arresting the unwise move at the last klik. No-fly zone, slag to all fragging grounders, the whole fragging city is a no-fly zone. He would have to walk to find accomodation.

A joor later Starscream was ready to murder all grounders. His pedes hurt. His pride smarted. Most importantly he was turned away from all hotels he tried, on excuses of being full, but he knew it was just his wings that mattered. He stood in a run-down street and contemplated his choices. He could continue to search a hotel with a less prejudiced management, but it was getting late and he wasn’t enthusiastic about his chances. 

Or he could swallow his pride – what’s left of it – and go to Skyfire’s place. The shuttle would not only give him a room, but he wouldn’t even ask why.... not even after the last few vorns he failed to even contact him. That was his problem with Skyfire always. He was far too accomodating with every mech, to the point that even Starscream was hesitating to ask him a favour. But he had few enough options right now. Vos was too far, Iacon was too unwelcoming – and the shuttle’s apartment appeared more and more enticing as he walked on aching pedes among grounder optics that were equally disdaining and lewd. 

“Starscream?”

Skyfire was exactly as he remembered him. Big, gentle and lumbering, white plating only mostly white, keeping to his habit of forgetting his own maintenance, and smiling already, despite of his surprise from the door of his apartment in a high-rise block.

“Yeah, it’s me. Can I... come in?”

“Of course! I’m so glad to see you! Haven’t heard of you...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Far too long. Sorry ‘bout that.”

The big shuttle nodded his helm to the side, but said nothing as they moved into a small sitting area. It made Starscream accutely conscious.

“Umm, I know, I should have, but... after that slag in the uni...”

“I was truly sorry to hear that they actually turned you away.”

Starscream barely stopped his wings from the same rude gesture he employed a lot earlier – it would be highly insulting with Skyfire, who could actually understand it – and it wouldn’t be aimed towards him anyway.

“That... they did. Slagging caste... I wasn’t high enough to gain admittance.”

“I know. I asked about it after you were gone.”

Skyfire was barely scraping acceptable either – Starscream checked – but that didn’t help when he was condescendingly told to go back to Vos and find a career he was actually suited for. His scores were not even considered! It still smarted, even though the Military Academy had accepted him... but it wasn’t what he had wanted to, not the very least. 

“I’m still sorry that you choose to leave so suddenly and without a word.”

Starscream blushed faintly. It was as close to actually reprehending as Skyfire ever got. 

“I was... angry. Not at you! But still.. angry. I couldn’t face... even you.”

“I can imagine, Star. But I would have still liked if you told me yourself. Or where you were going.”

“I didn’t know that myself.” Starscream sighed and let his wings sag. It still hurt to remember those orns the darkest ones of his existence so far. 

“But you do now...”

Skyfire glanced at the military markings on his wings and Starscream flicked them to show that he got it. The shuttle nodded and offered him energon. It was like a peace offering – and Starscream took it gladly. 

“Not much left for me than the military. Vosian Military Academy, highest honours, youngest Squadron Leader ever, bla-bla...” It wasn’t what he had wanted but he couldn’t do any less than ace there too.

“Congratulations.” He meant it. Starscream had not known any single mech who were so honest and unselfish than Skyfire, but despite of his cynicism, he believed the shuttle. Had always believed him, even when they were just in prep school and still hoping that they could get in Iacon’s prestigious Academy. 

“Thanks. At least in the military they actually consider competence too besides caste.”

“It is good to hear. If that is so, maybe you’re better off there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Star... academic fields became more and more... caste based lately. I think you would not be comfortable here now. There is a faction which has gained power in many fields... they call themselves Functionalists. According to them, neither of us are even suitable for scientific work, because of...” – the shuttle shifted his sturdier wings – “... these.”

“What? You have... troubles?”

“I am mainly relegated to explorer class now, with the stress on transport rather than study.”

Skyfire’s tone was wry and a bit bitter too. Starscream stared at him, mute for a klik in outrage.

“They did... WHAT? B-but... you’re the best xenobiologist on Cybertron!”

Skyfire lifted a heavy brow plate, hesitant, even as he visibly preened at the praise.

“You... how would you know?

“Umm... I’ve... read your publications.” Starscream blushed a bit again “Military has one good thing for it, as I can get any journals for free. Including scientific ones.”

“Thank you.” The shuttle’s warm smile was contagious.

“Well, I’ve read others too.” He was embarrassed suddenly, though he wasn’t sure why. “But as we had planned to go on missions together, I felt like...”

“No need to explain, Star. I’m simply glad that you followed my... career, such as it is.”

“Umm. Yes. So. You say... that these Functionalists gain power? I’ve heard of them, but they are not in the army, not yet at least.”

“They grow subtly but gain power all the time. They preach that one’s alt mode determines one’s place in society and that it is final.”

“Castes do that too.”

“But they are even stricter, go farther than castes. Like... according to them, no matter what caste a flier comes from we can’t be anything aside from transport or military.”

“I heard of it, yes... didn’t know it was that bad.”

“It is getting worse. When the Prime, Optimus Prime came to power we all hoped that he would change things.”

“He used to be an archivist, I know, from a middle caste.”

“Exactly. And there were some changes, some lightening of strict rules at first. But since these Functionalists grew, it has all turned the worse again.”

“That’s partly why I’m in Iacon, Fire. Have you heard of... a mech the Prime is looking for?”

Skyfire lifted a wing again, but this time in confusion.

“No, I haven’t. You know something?”

“Yeah, and it’s kind of mysterious. One orn an order came from Enforcers’ Office to produce pictures of certain military mecha. At the same time, I heard a whisper that the Prime is looking for somemech, urgently and with importance. Then the Palace is in uproar and under high alert. And I bet my next paycheck that it’s all connected.”

“I am not your mech to ask more, Star. I know nothing about Palace business or rumours.”

“I know! I have my contact, I'm meeting later, I just...”

He swallowed. Asking the shuttle to house him after all that was between them and when he himself had troubles suddenly seemed pretty selfish. Which wouldn’t be a problem with another mech... but this was Skyfire. He mumbled quickly.

“I... couldn’t get a hotel-room. Fraggers all lied about being a full house and...”

Skyfire laughed gently and lifted his chin with one blunt digit.

“You’re always welcome here, Star. I wish you’d contact me more, but I’ll never turn you away while I have a spare berth.”

“Thanks...”

A joor later Starscream was sitting in the oil-house they had agreed on and awaited the Palace mech, Soundwave. He was a strange one, the Seeker mused, so silent for a communications specialist and mysterious – he couldn’t even see the mech’s alt mode for first glance, which was unusual. For a grounder he lacked wheels, for a flier he lacked wings or rotors – true, there were hidden wheels and folded wings, but it wasn’t usual for a mech to be so indeterminate. On top of his he had a faceplate instead of a real one with features, extremely hard to read. 

“Soundwave.”

“Starscream, Squadron Leader.”

Something, an instinct told Starscream to handle the mech with a straightforward approach. He waved for two good cubes from the server and got down to business openly.

“So... I want to know about this mech the Prime looks for. I was on the military list, and so...”

“Mech found.”

The Seeker was excited and dissapointed at the same time. He was late!

“Ohh... really? Who was it? Where?”

But Soundwave cut his tumbling questions short.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why should Soundwave provide information?”

“Ohh...” He was getting ahead of himself. Soundwave would require incentive to answer, he had known this. Only, at the time Starscream thought himself to be an incentive, having been on the list. Obviously that wasn’t working now and he would have to find something else fast. “Mutual interest?”

“Define.”

“A new player in the Palace would create... opportunities for many. For those who dare to take some risks.”

“What risks and for what goal?”

“I would detail it more if it is an equal exchange of information.”

Soundwave was silent for several kliks and Starscream fidgeted at the intensity of his observation. He was probably an Aerial of some kind, he pondered fleetingly, grounders were rarely this thin and lanky. And Aerials sometimes had folded wings. He experimentally stretched his wings and he distinctly felt the attention focus on them, despite of the featureless faceplate. So the mech did understand wings. 

“Exchange agreed. Knowledge required?”

“Why is the Prime after this mech?”

“Matrix-sent vision. Content unknown yet, but importance clear.”

“Could be the next High Protector, we postulated.”

“Negative. Low caste.”

Starscream dismissed that with a flick of his wings.

“The church can handle that. The present Prime was also middle caste only.”

“Caste much lower. Miner.”

“Hmmm...” That was really low and truly surprising “In that case... a mech like that would need tutors if the Prime wants him for anything else but a berth-warmer.”

“Optimus Prime: not the kind.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to berth a miner either, but who knows what tastes he has.”

Soundwave looked blank for a klik but then he shook his helm.

“Tutor – possible. Ideas?”

“Maybe suggesting that mecha not from the Palace are less judgemental about his low caste?”

Soundwave thought that over again, but in the end he nodded and pointed one long, thin arm to the Seeker.

“Concept feasible. Starscream whishes to be one such tutor? Of what?”

“Science, strategy, combat? I am versatile.” Starscream refrained from crowing in glee. He was not there yet... but he was on his way to the Palace, he felt it!

“I require credentials.”

Starscream transmitted his full resume to the comms mech and accepted the nod as it went through.

“Exchange?”

Oh yes, he would want something in return. Starscream thought fast and decided to bluff.

“I’m military and I have quite a following in Sky Command. If I can rise any further, I would not be ungrateful.”

“Squadron leader – middle rank only.”

“I am on the rise, check it. I have ambitions and a processor to match them.” 

Starscream hissed his answer proudly and flared his wings fully. This was not even a bluff. He could reach any heights – once he got that little push for the first, crucial step.

The tall, blue mech nodded and lifted his energon. Starscream hurried to match the move and their cubes clinked together with a small, tinking sound of great future in the making.

“Await notification. Soundwave: influence only in choosing tutors. Not assurance.”

“All right, all right, I get it. I think we can work together.”

The featureless faceplate suddenly unnerved him as Soundwave stared silently at him again.

“Possibility exist.”

-o-o-o-

Optimus Prime had rarely looked so... enthusiastic to his advisors than this time. To Jazz, it was almost frightening, how much D-16 occupied their ruler’s processor these orns.

“So, who do we have so far as tutors for D-16? Jazz?”

“There is Kup, whom Ironhide recommended and I agree wholesparkedly. Then there is a Knight for religious studies, added by Dai Atlas and a mech recommended for basic science, whom I have checked and found nothing, but I am still vary about...”

“Who is this last one?”

“A Seeker, by the designation of Starscream, He’s military, though he comes with an impressive array of credentials and talents, but I’m still not sure...”

Jazz fell silent at the flash in Optimus’s optics. Uhh-ohh.

“A... Seeker?”

Jazz groaned. He recognized that look from the Prime. It meant that he got interested and he wouldn’t budge.

“Yeah, a Seeker. That’s my concern to be honest...”

“Now, Jazz... don’t be like that. If he has the credentials and you cleared him, then it does not matter that he is a Seeker.”

Jazz grumbled something unenthusiastic but he was careful for it to not be understandable.

“Now, now, Jazz... you know that I’ve never met a Seeker personally. Of course I am interested.”

Jazz knew when to give up a lost battle.

“Right. So he’ll have this Starsceam for basic science and Highbrow for etiquette. Unless he objects to any of them.”

“It won’t be for awhile. You have to look out for more hidden clues.”

“I know, Optimus, I mean Prime. All the recommendations are agreeable mecha, except Starscream, whom I don’t know personally. Hopefully D-16 won’t be put off by a flier.”

“It is my understanding that fliers are considered... exotic, by lower caste mecha?”

“They are exotic, true. But high-strung as well.”

“Maybe he will be different.”

“Let’s hope for that.”

And when Optimus Prime left for his next scheduled function with the others in tow, Jazz grumbled under his nasal sensor as tried to sort the future tutors into an entirely different category too. _‘Let’s hope one of these will teach the mech proper interfacing too. He appears entirely too much of a spike mech, which just... won’t do.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about the caste system: Seekers and other frames are not a separate caste. They all have their places in the general caste system, all different frames. So... there are low caste Seekers, middle one (most are military) and even a few nobles. Starscream here is middle caste, military in fact and as such he's below Skyfire, who is intellectual caste. I might post the whole system at the end of the fic.
> 
> Note about Soundwave: I don't think he was silent all his life, so I gave him his G-1 counterpart's stilted/shortened style in speech.


	9. Night and Day

D-16 fell into recharge sitting on the still too fancy-looking floor. It didn't surprise him, since it wasn't like a rocky mine-corridor was any less comfortable than mosaic flooring and he had a long, chaotic orn. He was a lot stiffer though than before, his limbs barely reacting to his processor's commands when he heard the nearly silent steps approaching him. The darkness was nearly complete in the room, only the faint flickers that came from beyond the windows broke it, painting tiny, multicoloured flickers on the walls and ceiling – crystals, he realized, they must have been crystals from the garden he saw earlier... and he felt safe in the dark, his processor awakening slowly to what shuld have been a worrying feel, an unknown mech approaching in the dark and a whisper floating over to him...

“Don't worry... stay there...”

A deep, gentle voice whispered to him and his fuzzy processor obeyed automatically. A large frame, almost as big as his own lowered itself to sit beside him, blue optics flashed at him mischievously...

“M'Lord?” He almost scrambled up as he realized who it was, but a servo on his shoulder kept him still and down on the floor. The contact between them was strange, like nothing he experienced before, almost electric. It must have been the Matrix he had felt earlier...

“Optimus.” The tone was still gentle and far less formal than earlier “When we're alone it's just Optimus. I wish you had a designation too. It sounds _strange_ to say D-16. Makes me angry. Not at you! At the world that dictates such things...”

He couldn't say anything at that. For him it was normal... higher castes had designation while his kind had IDs. Though the _why of it_ was worth some more pondering... later.

“I'm sorry for all this.” Optimus Prime said and D-16 stared back “For taking you away from your place just like this and nobody telling you anything. I hope... I wish we can get past that and start again like... equals.”

“But I'm not...! Lord Prime!”

“Well, more equals, then. I wasn't a Prime always, you know?”

D-16 shook his helm mutely. He had no idea and he wasn't sure what it would change.

“I used to be a simple archivist. I know, that's still higher caste than miners, but, well, it's nearly as far from a Prime as a miner, believe me. At the very least I can understand what it means to be taken from your home and suddenly a lot of strangers trying to change what you are, how you speak, what you do.”

The Prime's tone has its usual calm and gentle cadence, but D-16 felt his field as they sat beside each other... and it was wry at best. He glanced at him cautiously – in the dark there wasn’t a lot he could see, but the blue of his optics appeared honest.

“I... see.”

“I'm sure you have a thousand questions. Ask them... go on, just ask away. When we're alone, you can speak without fear. With others, I must play my part too, but not here.”

“Why am I here?”

“That's a good question and I'm sure the 'Primus willed it' won't be satisfying to you, right?” The Prime snorted – _actually snorted!_ \- and continued “I wouldn't accept it in your place. So... it happened because, believe it or not, you are an important mech.”

“But I'm... not.”

“Primus told me otherwise. I probably shouldn’t say it, but... in other versions of our world, called alternate universes, you are my enemy and we fight a bitter civil war.”

“But I... I wouldn't... why? How? I'm just a miner! I have no armies!”

“Elsewhere... you are far more than that and others follow you for it. Cybertron... this one but the others either, it is far from perfect now. The rift among castes, the inequality and injustice in many cases, the growing energon shortage... they all push our world towards a civil war. And you can be a focal point in this, one who leads other poor mecha in their revolution against the higher castes.”

D-16 was ventillating heavily. It was just too much to take in and he scarcely understood some of the concepts, like the alternate universes, other than finding them frightening... but intriguing at the same time. But the whole mess was promising little good for his continued existence.

“But if I am to be a... rebel, an enemy... why not just execute me?” To him it was a simple solution and it wasn't like higher castes would care overasmuch about a single miner's continued life. 

“It wouldn't solve Cyberton's problems. Rather the opposite, if my visions are to believe. And it wouldn't be... **right.** ” 

He couldn’t answer anything to that and the silence stretched between them in the dark. Finally, the Prime shuffled a little and D-16 too, finding their spot on the floor increasingly uncomfortable and his frame stiff.

“Why didn't you sit on a chair?”

D-16 shrugged in the semi-dark room as they stood up.

“They felt... too fine for me.”

The gentle laugh soothed his still present fears. It wasn't aimed at him, it was a self-deprecating laugh.

“I totally felt the same at first. I was afraid to damage so fine furniture with my overly large, clumsy frame... as an archivist, I used to be quite a bit smaller.”

“The Matrix made you... M'Lord bigger?”

“Yes... it did.” And the Prime's tone was suddenly sad “I miss being on the same level as most mecha. Only warbuilds are this big and they don't often come to court. And miners. Hmmm, probably a lot of construction mecha too. But almost nomech in the Senate that I have to deal with ornly.”

A small light was turned on, its gentle, warm cone of light drawing them into a common sphere, a space they had shared on a sofa. In the low light its finesse was not visible, not spooking D-16. The Prime's presence and closeness was a bit more strange, but his fear was absent too. Maybe it was the semi-darkness that felt almost like a mine that soothed him... it certainly weren’t the ideas he was told.

“As for killing you... a lot of mecha thought and some even advised me to do that. But it is not what Primus told me. He wants us to work together and solve Cybertron's problems and I think that it is what we must try.”

Optimus Prime's face was very serious and D-16 didn't dare to interrupt him.

“This is why I want you to understand – and accept! - that you are definitely not a 'simple miner'. You simply cannot afford to remain one. I truly do not know what would be the best for you, what role you can fulfill... but I know that it is an important one and it is beside me.”

“M'Lord Prime... I serve you however you want me to. If Cybertron gets better for it... then I'm happy. I will... do my best.”

D-16's voice was full of doubts, despite of his pledge. He was told, they were all told that their kind was incapable of learning any more than knowledge of mining. That they were created exclusively for that, their frames and processors were of lower quality than other castes' who were made for other, more complex and demanding roles. 

“Tell me your doubts. I can sense that you have many.”

“M'Lord... I was told that it is impossible for a miner to learn anything else. So... how could I possibly...?”

“They tell you that?” The tone was incredulous and shocked “It is... it is simply not true. ALL mecha has processors that are capable of learning! This is what makes us more than machines or drones. You must not believe such lies!”

They fell silent, D-16 from shock, Optimus from indignation. But it was the Prime who collected himself first and continued, sensing his still lurking doubts.

“Tomorrow, my own physician will examine your processor and tell you what he finds. He's the kind who would never lie in a medical matter, not for anymech's sake, so you can believe him. And I'll arrange you studies of anything you are interested in. You'll see how it goes.”

“Thank you... M'Lord.”

If this was true, if even miners could learn... then D-17 could have studied for a medic and D-15 could have become a gladiator like they always dreamt to... and he could write down the pretty thoughts that sometimes came to his processor. The flickers of energon-crystals in the velvet-dark of the tunnels, the way acid rain washed off paints and the colourful rivers swirled on the dark ground, painting abstract shapes into the dust. The bleak but still moving emotions he felt. The sun-rays that held up the dark sky and billowing clouds underneath. Yes... he would like to be able to tell these, write these... and read others.

He boldly said so to this gentle, strange Prime and saw his smile blossom.

“That's exactly what I meant. See? Should a miner be able to do that according to your former supervisors?”

“N-no.”

“It's called poetry. Was it your secret dream?”

“Y-yes... one of them. But we... D-15 and me... talked about the gladiators too. He always wanted to become one. I... was interested too.”

The Prime didn’t say anything about gladiators, which D-16 understood after he thought of it a bit. Gladiators were... somewhat outside the castes. The Arenas took in any mech who could fight, regardless of their castes and their world was a closed one that few knew. At the same time, it was not a respected occupation, nor a safe one. If he was to be... _important_ then that career was probably not what he should chose.

“D-15... was he your friend? Another miner?”

“I... don't know. We worked together a lot. We had stayed close in the barracks. Watched vidscreens together. But not always.”

“That still sounds friends to me. Like me and Jazz had known each other before I became a Prime and stayed friends even after. We both rose higher than our castes should allow. If the caste laws were to be believed, then neither of us would be able to do what we do now.”

That sounded true. And Jazz was friendly and seemed to understand his problems better than even the servants, but he was still a dangerous and high-ranking mech. So he might as well try too. 

The Prime stood and D-16 jumped to his pedes too. Tiredness suddenly swamped him in a wave, the long orn and lots of thinking taking its toll.

“Recharge now. Your next orns will be busy and you’ll meet a lot of mecha who’ll guide and teach you – and it’ll possibly be more tiring than long shifts in the mine. At least the berths are really comfortable in this Palace.”

With a small, encouraging smile the Prime disappeared through the little door and D-16 stood in the middle of the lavish room, watching him leave. He sighed heavily. It felt queer how quickly he got used to seeing the Prime of the planet and the Chosen of Primus up close and simply talk to him. At times he still felt that it had to be a recharge dream, that such things did not happen in real life. 

But the large berth was truly comfortable, whether it was a dream or not. Also now that his residual fears have abated, some sort of a newfound confidence mixed with his natural tenacity swept over him and D-16 was suddenly surer than before that he would really be able to do what was asked of him. He could do it. He would do it. For the other miners, for this gentle, strange Prime. But mostly for himself.

-o-o-o-

The Prime was right, his next orns were busier than a mining shift and far more tiring for his processor too. A grumbling medic came into his rooms earlier in the orn than shifts started, poked and prodded him for breems and in the end told him gruffly that his processor was capable of learning exactly the same as everymech’s else; though his armour was worth slag and a full-frame refit would be to his advantage. This, D-16 discovered for himself soon when a mech called Kup came and evaluated him for combat – not only was he embarrassingly clumsy compared to the trained warrior, but every hit and kick dented his armour deeply, the cheap material not withstanding the least force put to it. In barely a few orns D-16 not only agreed to that proposed frame refit, but he asked for it and looked at frame designs with Kup and the medic advising him on details.

Besides the tutors, various servants turned up in his rooms regularly, whom he rather fruitlessly tried to entice talking. Kup who was a lieutenant with the Palace Guards, came often and he was one of those few mecha he could really talk to. In a way he reminded him of D-15, though he never said that out loud, but the experienced warrior was talkative in a way D-15 was and even their gruff but friendly manner was similar. He wouldn’t call him his friend, not yet, but it was good to be able to listen to stories delivered in a non-judgemental way. Kup told interesting stories in an exciting way and introduced him to history vids until he learned reading. D-16 never knew from the dark of the mine that the stars he saw so rarely mostly had worlds like Cybertron, just with different races, some even organic – and judging from the stories, Kup had visited many if not most of them.

But he soon learned more about the worlds than Kup’s stories. The third morning D-16 barely finished his morning fuel – which he still rather enjoyed for its amazing quality and the unlimited amount he was allowed – when a servant came in to introduce him yet another tutor. He knew by this time that he had a separate room for learning – he still didn’t quite get why it was so, but he put it among the strange things upper castes insisted on and left it at that – and went there without a fuss. In the doorway though, he stopped and stared, optics wide under his helm.

The mech, currently poking around the room among the etiquette datapads Highbrow left there, was, without doubt, a flier. Tall, but not like him, so thin and lanky he could probably hold his waist in one servo, pointy silver-gray armor looking weak for all its military look, but waxed and polished to a high shine... and two long wings flapped and flared behind him as he puttered by the table... then they twitched suddenly and the mech whirled around to face him. The wings shot upwards, framing a long head and the bright red hornlike protrusion on the helm. Shrewd red optics measured him from under flexible brow plates and D-16 was as much glad for their familiar red amongst the sea of Iaconian blues as he was instinctily vary of their calculating glint. The mech felt like Jazz for him – not inimical to him personally, but dangerous none the less. 

D-16 awkwardly nodded-bowed to the obviously higher caste mech. Highbrow had explained to him that though his caste was unchanged as yet, he was, by the Prime’s order, exempt from most of the required obeisance. He had too admit, it felt good to stand level with other mecha, instead of scraping on the ground. It made him feel like a mech, not a piece of dirt under their pedes. It started to awaken thoughts in him, thoughts about things he had been taught and accepted all in his function - about why and how these mecha were better than him if he could learn all what they could and be their equal – important even.

The flier spoke up first and his voice surprised D-16 greatly. That screechy tone just didn’t go well with his polished and somewhat haugthy demeanor.

“I am Starscream. Squadron Leader in Sky Command... and I’ll try to teach you some basic science.”

“I’m... looking forward to it.” he was also learning that he could ask and it was about the best thing in his opinion “Are you a... warrior?”

“I am in Sky Command... that is, yes, I am a warrior. But I have scientific credentials too.”

His tone was strange, conceited and bitter at the same time.

“Have you fought in many wars?”

D-16 just couldn’t help his excitement. Kup had introduced him to war stories and he simply loved them. To have another, a flier at that! – to tell more was worth of the more boring lessons.

“Two campaigns only.” The flier said stiffly, like he was embarrassed about it.

“Could you please tell me about those?”

He didn’t understand the flare of the wings but they appeared to be pleased, rather than annoyed. The stiff formality thawed out a bit and the flier huffed, losing most of his disdaining air.

“Of course.” the jetformer smirked at last “I can do that, sure.”

D-16 learned very little of anything scientific that orn, since Starscream told good stories and his tales of Vos were nothing sort of fabulous. The flier showed him pictures and vids of other cities of Cybertron on a console and told him about their specialties, mecha and a myriad of other things and he was more and more open as he talked. In half an orn they were at ease with the other and moved on to more personal topics.

“You’re from Tarn, right?”

“Yes. I’m... I mean I was a miner.”

This time he understood the shaking of those wings – it showed disgust at being underground, that the flier told him was unthinkable for his kind. But the glance Starscream cast at him was unreadable and unconnected to any mines. It was almost like the looks of the nobles he met at first. Calculating, measuring, shrewd, watching him as though he was just some thing to use and not mecha. It made him suddenly uncomfortable and reminded him that no matter how agreeable these mecha were, he still couldn’t trust them. 

“What will you be now?”

D-16 shrugged. He still wasn’t sure.

“You could be a warrior, that’s... actually within the caste system. Or a priest, but you don’t sound devout enough for that.”

“I... can?” He never heard of anymech from his caste to rise in the system.

“Yeah. Not usual, but then, your case is unusual in itself and the Prime can sign your advance. The past few vorns he has slowly mitigated the caste laws so now any mech can advance with only a committee or such evaluating the talent of the petitioner and the requirements of his new caste. Of course most of these committees are afthats, prejudiced and bureaucratic, but some actually work.”

“I never heard of this.”

Starscream waved in the air with one long, taloned servo, scowl pulling his expressive face.

“Well, obviously the nobles who own the mines and factories don’t want to advertise it. They don’t want to lose their uneducated, obedient workforce.”

D-16 felt that terribly unfair and said so.

“Yeah, they are sl... well, never mind.” His voice turned lower and he leaned closer, wings shooting up behind him “Walls always have audials in the Palace. Mind what you say about nobles, they have long arms and long memories.”

“I... see.”

Being careful what he was saying was nothing new to D-16. Their coversation turned back to neutral topics again, at least until Starscream suggested to move out to the crystal garden. D-16 was only happy to point out the crystals that he knew, the flier adding their properties and characteristics to his knowledge, interspersed with his often caustic comments about their world, the castes and particular mecha in the Palace he should be wary of. It was all useful, the science no less so than the politics and D-16 enjoyed the flier’s wit. Starscream was leaving at the end of a long orn when he stopped and hesitated for a klik on his way out. He turned back from the door, wings fluttering uncertainly as he spoke up once more.

“By the way... you should really think of a new designation if you want to be taken seriously. To be honest, it might be for the best that you have no proper name yet. Nobles would never take you seriously with something like the lower caste mecha usually wear... Landmine, Driller or somesuch would sound lowly in the court. This way you can choose something that is appropriate even in their optics. You won’t stay hidden in here for long, you know?”

“I don’t know what’re appropriate designations.”

“Well, choose one mighty-sounding from the historical vids you like so much. There’re plenty of dead Primes, generals and priests in those. Pick one you like – and you can listen to some of the nobles grind their denta hearing it.”

D-16 still wasn’t sure that alienating nobles was such a good idea, but the idea of picking a historical designation appealed him. As soon as the flier was out he sat down by a console, paging through the vids of past wars and legends Kup showed, for the one he briefly remembered from the other orn. There was a Prime in it, one of the early ones, a powerful one, fighting Unicron and generally being awesome.

**Megatronus.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, there's much more about the historical Megatronus Prime, than D-16 knows just yet. But for now he only saw one popular, half-fictional vid that showed that Prime's deeds in a favourable light, without mentioning his later actions. So D-16 chooses a designation on very little info, very much like a young kid seeing his first ever cartoon and identifying with the hero, without seeing his failings. :-)


	10. Megatron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm... it only took me an extra two weeks to write a 'proper' court scene, which I decided to do. I blame Ratbat for this, because why not. :-)

When Jazz was angry, mecha tried their best to avoid him and those unfortunates who had to be around him during such times made sure to have a good alibi or at least an acceptable explanation. Whatever was the reason for his anger. Nearly all mecha in the palace had something to hide, something they had done foolishly, something they gave to the wrong mech... and Jazz knew about it. Moreover they all knew that Jazz knew it, it was just a matter of time when he would be collecting his due and punish them for their actions.

So the tutors collected into his office – which was not really an office, it rather resembled a dark, offworld tavern crossed with a loud and flashy disco, but was a hundred times more dangerous place than either of those – and seeing him silently seething, they all knew that one of them did something extremely inadvisable and neither of them wanted to be the one. Even Starscream, a relatively new addition for the Palace staff perceived the seriousness of the situation as his nervously stiff wings indicated.

“So.” Jazz didn’t even bother wearing his cheerful facade, an extremely bad sign “Who introduced D-16 to the designation ‘ **Megatronus Prime** ’?

The assembled tutors swallowed almost collectively and stole subtle glances at each other. None wanted to be the first to speak up.

“I should mention to you, that I had to listen to Lord Optimus Prime expressing his extreme disappointment” – they all flinched, including Jazz – “at D-16 choosing such an inappropriate designation, so I will have the culprit in one way or other.”

Various optics widened around him, a green-plated mech shifted from one pede to the other and a pair of wings twitched strongly before held unnaturally still. Jazz took in the reactions that spoke louder than an actual admission. 

“Kup? Starscream? Anything to mention?”

Starscream was the first to answer, his shrill voice even higher than usual.

“I just told him to pick a historical designation, something that sounds good in the court!”

“Not the particular one?”

“No! I mentioned no designations at all!”

“That vid he mentioned? Have you suggested it?”

“Not me! Those vids are total slag history-wise.” the wings were indignant this time and Starscream appeared to calm a bit. “Obviously, since they were made by groundpoun... grounders.”

Jazz glanced from the Seeker to the green-plated mech he had known for a long time.

“Kup?”

“Aye, sir, I’ve showed him the series. He was interested in history and wars, but he can’t read datapads yet. I thought those could make god entertainment for him.”

“Did you point him at that particular one?”

“Nay, Sir. Can’t believe I did. He chose it all his own.”

Jazz sighed heavily. He would have pegged the Seeker as culprit, but apparently he was wrong. Not that Kup did something terrible, but misunderstandings sometimes produced abysmal results. Like now. His anger was slowly dissipating, giving way to damage control. 

“Okay mecha. Listen to me. What’s done is done, but from now on don’t expect him to get anything without an explanation. He has no background knowledge we mostly share. None. Zero. Nothing to fall back into, nothing to help him interpret things, nothing to set anything into context. Don’t trust him to correctly interpret what you teach. Do it yourselves. Explain. Expound. Provide background Ask him to make sure he gets it. Make him ask you for context.”

Kup kept nodding heavily while Jazz spoke. He was no tutor of history, and he should have stayed with the physical part he was assigned for. He knew it now. But D-16 was so eager to learn, so excited about his stories... and he was just happy to point him towards some entertainment and never thought he would take it as inspiration. Besides... Megatronus Prime was not a popular subject and he was surprised to remember that the history series had a part dedicated to him and painting him in a favourable light too. 

“All of you should try to convince him to choose another designation before it becomes official, though he seems quite set on it. Starscream, you appear to be able to handle him fairly well.”

The Seeker looked surprised at the praise, his wings shooting upward before he could convince them to settle into neutral position. Jazz smirked and continued.

“Try to influence him. Coerce him. Whatever you think works.”  
“I will.”

And didn’t the Seeker smirk like a wirecat fallen into an energon container? Jazz sighed. He knew that the Seeker was ambitious and would have to be watched – but he truly had a strange sort of rapport with D-16, so he was their best shot.

“Kup, with me. The rest... wherever you have to be.”

-o-o-o-

“But it’s a good designation. I like it.”

D-16... or Megatronus now, though he had to get used to that still, was not really surprised when the name caused his tutors a shock. In fact he had expected it. He was sure that no matter what designation he would choose, they would object to it, so he was going to stick with this one, since he actually liked how it sounded. 

“It is totally inappropriate. What do you know about the Prime who wore it?”

Even the Seeker, who suggested a historical designation tried to convince him to change it.

“I saw that vid. He was a Prime. You said it was okay to wear designation of past Primes, right?”

“Yeah, it’s not the problem. It’s that particular Prime. Not many real historical treatises mention him by his original designation any more.”

“Why?”

“Because they all call him The Fallen now. Guess why.”

D-16 stared. Fallen Prime? That... didn’t sound very great any more.

“Primes are, well, not always so great. Some manage better, some worse. But imagine what one has to do to be called The Fallen.”

“Umm... something bad?”

“Really bad. He betrayed the other Primes and killed Solus” – Starscream fell silent for a klik – “well, that’s what history tells anyhow. It’s a longer story, but still, he is not remembered fondly in Iacon. Warriors like him more, because he was the ultimate warrior, but here, wearing his designation is something of an... omen. And you have enough omens already, so it’s not very advisable.”

“I... see.” 

“I mean it’s okay to like him, because historical figures are rarely just good or bad, no matter what treatises say about them, but that designation is very unfortunate.”

“And what if I.. shortened it? Like... Megatron? Would that work?”

Starscream pondered for a klik, but in the end he smirked and his wings gave a little, funny flutter.

“The ‘-us’ suffix is something many Primes used, so... yeah, without it, the designation doesn’t have to refer to The Fallen.”

“Megatron...”

D-16 repeated the designation to himself, like tasting how it felt. It was fitting somehow, right. It was like a suit of armor made for him, hugging his protoform and closing on it, snug and strong. There was steel in the designation, greatness and destiny. It was more than just a name, it awakened something deep and profound inside him. Was he to wear it, he would no longer be a simple miner... and wasn’t that what the Prime said, that he would have to be more? So be it.

“Megatron. I am... Megatron.”

Starscream must have felt something of what went on in him, becasue the usually chatty Seeker fell silent and watched him with unreadable optics. Then he bowed, a short, sharp little bow with a formal dip of wings, devoid of any mockery.

“Megatron.”

“It does sound a bit better.”

They both turned towards the new voice and startled at the sight of Optimus Prime standing in the little side-door. Megatron gave a low, nervous bow, while Starscream scowled, stifled it quickly and knelt. His wings were stiff and unmoving behind him, obviously envious of the privilege Megatron had now with the Prime.

“Stand please.” Optimus Prime came closer and turned a little sigh into a short cough. Megatron realized suddenly that the mech was as tired and disapproving of caste protocols as they were and it made him even more… likeable. Then he trembled inside at calling the Prime _likeable_ , even just inwardly…

“We are in private… or as near as I can be. No need for etiquette here.”

“Yes, Lord Prime.” Starscream’s wings were still held low and occassionally a faint tremble ran through them.

But Optimus’s attention was not on the Seeker for now. Megatron felt the weigh of his glance.

“So you decided on… _Megatron_ as your designation?”

“Yes… My Lord.” He quaked a little inwardly, even though the Prime’s tone was not disapproving. It was not approving either, held strictly in neutral cadence.

“I can’t say that it will be a popular choice, but still… it is your choice.”

Starscream retreated a few steps seeing them talking, his wings moving nervously behind him.

“Should I leave, Lord Prime…?”

Optimus Prime glanced at him but shook his helm.

“No need… unfortunately my duties give me very little time to talk during the orn. I need just a few words…”

Starscream bowed and retreated a few more steps, standing near a window, giving them a measure of privacy. The Prime turned back towards Megatron.

“D… khmm, Megatron, I would like you to focus on etiquette for now and the matter of reframing if you decide to. Some Senators are pressuring me to introduce you in full court and that will be far more formal than our first meeting. If you decide on changing your armour, I can delay a bit, but no more than a decaorn.”

Megatron froze inwardly and suddenly had trouble inventing. A…. full Primal Court? He, a mere miner… from the corner of his optics he saw the Seeker’s wings shoot up and red optics flash in envious excitement and strangely it helped his composure. He should handle it like Starscream, as an opportunity, rather than a minefield. 

“I will do my best… My Lord. I will not embarrass you.”

The Prime’s smile warmed his spark strangely for some reason other than approval.

“I’m sure you won’t.”

And he was gone fast, leaving them both stupefied. Starscream recovered first, though his voice still held awe when he spoke up.

“Do you know how many mech saw him without that mask since he became a Prime?”

Megatron shook his helm mutely. The subject of Optimus Prime’s face and his feelings about it was something he didn’t want to discuss… not even with Starscream.

“Other than his medic, I guess none.”

“Then why now…?”

“I dunno…” – Starscream smirked mischievously – “but he is rather handsome.”

Megatron gasped scandalized, but Starscream was unrepentant.

“Well, he is. For a grounder of course.”

“You shouldn’t say such a thing!” Megatron hissed, looking around nervously, like expecting Jazz to appear through a wall and descend on them like an assassin.

“Why not? It is a praise, isn’t it? You wouldn’t dare to say it, so I have.”

He realized that the Seeker was needling him and felt embarrassed, a little angry even.

“I…”

“Don’t say that you don’t find him handsome, ‘cause that would be a lie and disrespect to boot.”

Megatron gaped, his thoughts scattering. Did he find the Prime good-looking? Well, of course he did. But was that the point? What was Starscream doing needling him like that?!? 

“You see, this, and even worse is what you can expect in the Court. You must prepare… and etiquette won’t be the hardest part. You must handle such barbs and innuendos.”

The Seeker turned serious and continued.

“And you really should change your frame to something more… refined or it will be easy ammunition for them to pick on. I mean they all know you used to be a miner, but the less you look like one, the more it will confuse them. Nobles assign inordinate importance to appearances.”

The nervousness returned at mentioning the court, and he suddenly realized what Starscream had done and felt grateful for the Seeker’s interesting tactics.

“I will. I think… if they are so concerned by appearances, then… I want something impressive. Intimidating.”

A slow, devious smile spread on Starscream’s faceplates.

“Now you’re talking! Your size is what it is and cannot be helped, but making it intimidating will go a long way to be taken seriously. Few mechs dare to pick on someone twice as big as themselves, even nobles.”

Megatron nodded eagerly. In the past few decaorns he slowly realized, since he didn’t have to kneel and scrape in front of smaller mechs, that being taller and bigger than others made them nervous. If it worked on nobles too… the idea of the court suddenly felt much less frightening.

“Still it won’t be easy. How is reading going?”

The sudden change of topic was a bit jarring, but Megatron learned that Starscream was operating this way normally.

“I can now read the datapads you gave me. The science topics are beyond me, but history is easier. Less new glyphs to look up.”

“Don’t overestimate it. Those datapads are made for younglings, their language is very simple. We have to advance to at least grad school level before your court appearance.”

“Why? I mean…” – they sat down by the datapad-strewn table – “they won’t test me on… science in the court?”

“Testing you? No, that’s something I will do. But they might try to see your intelligence and for many of them that equals to factual knowledge. Which is stupid, but nomech ever said that nobles are… umm.”

Megatron smirked a little at the fumble and for the rest of the joor they immersed themselves into glyphs and meanings, before Highbrow came and drilled him on the far more boring and gruelling subject until the very late end for the orn. And the next few orns were very much the same except for the reframing. That was tiring and aching but in a completely different way.

-o-o-o-

The Grand Entrance to the Primal Palace’s Greater Court Chambers was far larger than any living mech past or present. Even the largest warbuilds and combiners could pass the decorated, crystal and relief-encrusted doorleafs that swung with deceptive ease for their immense weight without the slightest problem. They were designed to induce awed smallness and insignificance into any who entered through them. Which was the very reason why high nobles and Senators customarily entered the hallowed chambers through another doorway, formally named the Door of Honour, nicknamed by the Palace staff secretly as stuck-up-pride door, despite it requiring a longish detour through the endless Palace corridors. But still, most in attendance had to enter through the huge main entrance, to disperse then into the immense chambers beyond according to their rank and stature, peer groups and as etiquette dictated. 

This Court was promising to be the biggest in late history. After several decaorns, the news of the Prime’s… _guest_ had spread to all levels of the highest castes and spurred a wave of gossiping, speculations, plots, and plans on all level of society nearly unheard of before. Very few nobles wanted to miss the introduction of a… **miner** into the court and see what the Prime wanted to do with it. Very few missed the furious way Ratbat tried to scheme in noble circles to offset his recent slight in the Senate and some unknown, but rumoured defeat he suffered in connection of the aforementioned miner, and it was always unwise to ignore what the Senator did as it usually affected every mech. A very few mecha, mostly lower caste scholars, scientists and some warbuilds were actually curious about the miner himself, of what qualities made Primus choose him from such a low caste and elevate him so high.

Jazz’s agents and Ironhide’s guards were numerous both visible and hidden and all were in a state of high alert. There hasn’t been an assassination attempt for decavorns during a public Court, but they were taking no chances… besides open violence was just one of the things they had a helmache about. There were just too many hidden plots and plans, changing alliances and affiliations for even Jazz to keep track of properly. The Palace was usually rife with those, but the arrival of the new player – and what a player! – has stirred the old games up. 

And Ratbat was on a warpath or Jazz was a novice in Secret Service and he couldn’t even set Mirage shadowing him – there were few occasions when a noblemech’s and a spy’s duties clashed and this was one of them. Jazz of course had a few agents in that troublesome noble’s retinue, but another noble was invaluable confronting him – caste system was sometimes a pain in the aft when it came to dealing with nobles. Theoretically the high noble could order his servants to do anything… literally anything barring attacking the Prime, and they would be legally obligated to obey and do it. That made being a secret agent in his service… interesting to say at least. 

Jazz also had the former miner and his tutors, particularly a winged one one in the forefront of his processor. Megatron has developed tremendously the last few decaorns, looking and sounding nothing like the frightened and shocked miner Mirage had brought into the Palace and Jazz had mainly Starscream to thank for that – the Seeker had a mouth on him all right, but he also had a great rapport with Megatron. He was ambitious too and saw Megatron as his chance upwards, which worried Jazz only a little – the former miner could have acquired a far worse tick than the Seeker. That Starscream had other dealings in the Palace was of more concern. He was starting to build up a network of mecha, who appeared insignificant at first glance – an unassuming comms specialist, a vain junior medic, who was rather a body artist, one of the guards and scientist from Senator Shockwave’s retinue – but taken together, they appeared to form a faction… a new faction he should say, one that might in time become a real force. 

Whether it would be Megatron’s faction or Starscream’s – time would tell. The Seeker was much more intelligent and devious than the former miner, but Jazz sensed that something in Megatron that would in time make him special: iron will, an emerging intelligence and hints of a charisma that he might one orn utilize to his great advantage. Unlike some other mecha who looked only at caste and surface appearances, Jazz had no problem seeing why Primus picked up Megatron. Like the crystals he used to mine he was encased in a rough and crude crust that education and training started to slowly chip away – so that the real precious stone could peek out from underneath. And he was far more resilient and less delicate than any crystals, that was for sure, especially in his new frame. 

The court nobles assembled in the great chambers were in for a shock of their lives.

-o-o-o-

Megatron was very nervous but he also got better at hiding it, so outwardly he appeared calm. Well, calmish. Or so he had hoped. His steps were far more sure now, the new joints and plates sliding and turning with oiled ease, making him look like less of a bumbling miner and more a heavy warbuild he was designed to look. The new armor was a bit lighter than his old one, despite of being thicker and bigger – superior alloys that he didn’t understand a glyph of their names, but Starscream rattled off their composition with something akin to reverence, went a long way of being stronger but lighter. No more was he dented by Kup when they practiced, though the other mech became a lot more cautious anyway lately.

He was not much bulkier than before, but the shape was completely different overall. Longer legs, though ending in great, stable pedes that stood on the ground firmly, a somewhat narrower waist and everything else a lot less blocky and more streamlined, with spurs and pointy edges adorning the darker but still mostly silver plates. The shoulder spurs were the hardest to get used to and not hit himself in the helm when he lifted his arm, but overall he could pretty much move well in it, even better than in his old frame. Starscream only frowned at the helm shape he had chosen, calling it unimaginative and brutish and his smooth, silver face ridiculous in its embrace, but Megatron kind of liked the effect. 

The omnipresent servants had a definitely different in attitude now, that much even he could see. There were no more barely hidden scowls and flippant answers when he asked something, though Megatron didn’t change his own behaviour towards them. He wasn’t used to having servants still and never ordered them around, but he now noticed some of them ducking fearfully when he turned suddenly or gesticulated widely. Despite of their low caste, Megatron never felt any kinship with them – they were mostly too snobbish for that – but he didn’t want to intimidate them either. That was for the nobles, if Starscream’s plans went right, which he rather hoped that they did.

Taking another shaky invent and steadying his slightly trembling servos – must not keep them fisted, have to remember that, as a closed fist signalled all the wrong things in high society – and drawing up his backstrut straight, Megatron took the last step towards the immense doors and tried to keep from flinching when they swung open silently and majestically.

“Megatron, miner caste, The Lord Optimus Prime’s special guest!”

He did flinch at the loud announcement just inside the door. The slender, tall mech who did it stared straight ahead, shouting out only what came through his internal comms and nothing else. He didn’t care about the mechs coming through the entrance, didn’t even glance at the one most others were talking about. The whole event was choreographed down to the last detail and Megatron knew that he had to take that last step, the one that would take him over the entryway and into the court… into his future life, if the Prime was to be believed. 

Steeling his will and steadying his roiling tanks Megatron did so. The throne chamber was a blur to him in its majestic eloquence and the shifting masses of colourful mecha didn’t help him to be able to focus properly. It was loud and overwhelming, like most things in the Palace, only far more so than most. Like… his own quarters were downright plain compared to this and even the Prime’s chambers looked far less bedecked in ridiculous decorations than this. And it was large enough so even he felt small in them, only the Prime’s throne rose above the helms of mecha on its dais…

His pedes took a few more steps inside, automatic momentum carrying him ahead before he became aware of the sudden, hushed silence and the stares. A veritable sea of blue Iaconian optics speared him, a few golden, green, orange and white ones with barely an occasional red flashing among them – but they were all higher castes here, even the red, Kaonite optics came from ranks far above him, the scant nobility of Kaon and Tarn, just as disdaining and unfriendly as the other colours. If looks could kill he would be dead in a nanoklik. If looks could degrade, he would be less than dust on the floor in that instant. If looks could hate… which they did, he would be taken and thrown to the nearest prison for just daring to appear in their vaunted circles… whispers started to rise, cultured voices flicking degrading comments, their honeyed tones dripping with venom to go with the looks…

Bile started to rise in his intakes, the bitter taste of anger and fury at their contempt. None of these mecha were prepared to give him a chance, none wanted to know anything about him, to see him as a mech. He was nothing to them. Nobody and nothing, but a chance to get at the Prime who dared to dream a different future for Cybertron than them, nothing, but an opportunity to further their causes, their plots, their wealth… Megatron forgot most of the etiquette stuff they filled his processor with and nearly growled. If a fellow miner was looking at him like these nobles, it would be a fight and a probably missing limbs before the end of the orn. But he couldn’t fight a hundred, a thousand mecha, he couldn’t fight nobles and higher castes… and that thought doused his anger with ice-cold determination. He would not lie down and let them use him. He would not give up just because physical violence was not an option. 

Megatron took a small step, then another, surer one, until his pedes were nearly steady and from closer up he towered over a noblemech he knew nothing of, not a name, nor a rank, but he saw the disdain starting to flicker in his optics… and then the surprise as he realized he stood in Megatron’s shadow and it turned into apprehension. The orange and green plated mech shuffled backwards several steps and tried to regain his nonchalance and disdaining air – and failed.

“Megatron.”

Megatron turned and saw a mech nearly as big as himself and carrying himself like a warrior – the effect further reinforced by the hilt of a sword over his blue helm, the first and only actual weapon he saw in the grand chambers. It took him a klik to remember and identify the mech from the files and he bowed as he was directed. 

“Lord Dai Atlas.”

His voice was steady which surprised himself and probably the Knight too.

“The court may seem… overwhelming at first for mecha, khm, not used to it.”

The large mech said easily and steered them further inside, into the center of the crowd. Megatron followed him, since he had no other target in mind, unless it was to be as far as he could, but what was not an option at this point. A circle opened up around them, grew and followed them, smaller mecha giving way to them and the sussuration of whispers and conversations rose as they passed. The looks didn’t change much, which made Megatron nervous all over again, forcing him to revert to learned mannerisms and act as they dictated. 

“It… is, My Lord.”

“You will get used to it soon, I’m sure.”

Megatron didn’t dare to say aloud his wish, which was to never get used to such a torture, but he rather kept silent, even as it garnered him a sideways glance from the Knight. They went ever deeper into the throng of mecha and he started to feel like… drowning? Yes, it was like that. Like he got covered with slime and it got into his vents – the angry disdain around him was nearly palpable and certainly audible, even as Dai Atlas cast a warning glance around. Where were they going? The crowd seemed to surround him from every direction, even though he towered over them, he couldn’t see any clear target.

“Lord Dai Atlas.”

His… guide?... has stopped at the politely voiced call and so did Megatron. The mech who spoke up was familiar… the one who brought him in the city from the airport! Focusing on the elegant, dark blue plating made it easier to ignore all the others around him. 

“Lord Mirage. How delightful to see you in court.” 

“Likewise, Lord Knight. Also, the Prime’s guest.”

Mirage’s voice was devoid of the disdain of his fellow nobles, but it couldn’t be called warm either. It was clear that the noblemech was almost as disapproving of him as most of the attendance, which was something of a surprise. Megatron bowed and kept his words to the minimum necessary and his glyphs strictly formal. It did help that his new vocalizer was producing a clear bass tone, almost a rumble, and the blue noble lifted a brow at hearing it.

“Lord Mirage. I am deeply honored to be here.”

“I am certainly looking forward to seeing what you can contribute to the Lord Prime’s efforts.”

“I hope to do my best, Lord Mirage.”

Megatron was acutely aware of the many mechs listening to his words and produced them to the most refined way he could, putting the etiquette lessons to good use. Formality had a great way of being always appropriate and easily applicable even as the glyphs themselves sounded ridiculous from his vocalizer.

“Hopefully that will be better than your choice of a designation.”

Not a breem into it and he was already called out on his name. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now, it was entered officially into his records and incorporated into his automatic ping. Megatron shifted on uneasy pedes and decided not to defend his choice. Starscream said that it would be even worse if he tried to explain it and the Seeker was way more knowledgeable about such matters.

“I am sure that I can do way better, Lord Mirage.”

The noble nodded once, sharply and dropped the subject as well. The whispers around them took a distinctly disappointed note.

“From the way you look now, I surmise that your choice of career is military?”

“It might be, My Lord. But history also interests me.”

He caught a flash in the ice-blue optics that might have been approval, but it was gone in a klik.

“History is a good choice for those who want to learn from others’ mistakes. Or their own. Though I doubt that the court needs a large-framed historian, but then, the Lord Prime might.”

There was an undertone in the noblemech’s glyphs that Megatron couldn’t decipher – but it made Dai Atlas cast a sharp glance at him. He felt he lost the ground and tried to regain it the only way he knew so far – by ignoring what he didn’t catch. 

“I will serve the Lord Prime however He requires me to.”

“That’s a commendable vow. Well. Don’t let me detain you – I’m sure you have a lot to see and hear in the court. Until next time, Lord Dai Atlas…?”

And with that he was gone, blending into the crowd like a ghost, leaving Megatron to gape a bit at the sudden departure. 

“He is like this always. Appears abruptly, asks a few loaded questions and disappears. Lord Mirage likes to keep mecha on their toes and guessing about him. But he is more well-meaning than most here.”

Megatron glanced down at his pedes before recognizing the expression and fumble embarrassed to answer while they moved on. The noise grew in the great chamber behind them and another knot of mecha started to form around Mirage, but they had left that area before Megatron could hear the questions and remarks that had to be about himself.

“I have… met Lord Mirage before.”

He could now see the entirety of the chamber and it caught his invent – the single largest room on Cybertron that was capable of hosting thousands of mecha of any sizes, built by Zeta Prime, who could not stand that the Senate had owned the largest chamber in existence – and its huge, arched ceiling was soaring so far over their helms that fliers could theoretically take off and actually fly underneath it. But there weren’t many fliers there, Megatron noted – Dai Atlas had sturdy wings on his back, but he didn’t appear to be anything like the slender, tall Starscream and at a glance he could not see any other pair around. Only ground mechs, most of them with alt modes he couldn’t even begin to guess, bedecked in flamboyant colours, smelling of exclusive waxes, bearing jewellery of every shape and make… again, most of it was way outside his knowledge, other than appearing stupid and ridiculous.

“Indeed? Lord Mirage has… many duties.”

“He was there, when I arrived to Iacon.”

Something, a flicker of dawning comprehension flashed in the noblemech’s optics, but he didn’t comment on it further. Megatron started to realize that nobles habitually said at most half of what they meant to, to appear more mysterious. Or was it him, who was missing clues that he should have gotten? He should ask Starscream about this too.

But at least now he saw now where they were headed. The raised dais where the Prime’s throne stood. It was actually a relief, for Optimus Prime was somemech he could say he knew and a decent sort for his high station. But it was a long way till then and among crowds that grew louder and more explicit in their disapproval by the klik, despite of Dai Atlas’s presence by him. He heard most… ‘ _brute_ ’ and ‘ _a miner, can you imagine?_ ’, ‘ _boor, I tell you!_ ’, ' _Shame to see such waste of metal here_ ’, ‘ _what a despicable sight!_ ’… and even more he couldn’t fully understand and maybe it was for the better, because he was getting beyond shocked and into angry… though he still swallowed that anger, stilled his inner shaking and pretended not to hear the slurs as he continued beside the triplechanger. 

“Lord Dai Atlas!”

He felt Dai Atlas’s field sharpen before he saw the mech himself. The dark, mostly purple frame was obviously that of a noble, and from the way Dai Atlas reacted, Megatron could guess that he was far more important than Lord Mirage before. He was still searching the file that contained designations and descriptions, when Dai Atlas answered and he suddenly knew who this mech was. He had been specially warned about this Senator, after all.

“Senator Ratbat?”

Megatron felt the glance cast at him sideways like acid splashing into a wound. How such a neutral colour as blue could smolder with fury, it was a miracle. But it lasted only for a klik before a frozen, forced politeness took its place and the glance turned back towards Dai Atlas.

“I do expressly object to _this one_ attending the court. Had I been asked before…”

“Lord Ratbat, it was Lord Optimus Prime’s personal decision. Do you question the Prime’s wisdom?”

Megatron took the extreme disdain of the noble with surprising calm. He was already scorned by most here, so it wasn’t really new. 

“The Prime acts in an expressly unorthodox way lately. Perhaps he should listen more to his advisors. Or need new advisors.”

“Shall we replace Primus, Senator? Is that what you hinted of?”

“WHAT?”

“You are certainly aware that Megatron’s presence here was strongly advocated by Primus, right?”

Even at his designation, Ratbat refused to look at him straight, focusing on Dai Atlas and ignoring him as much as one can ignore a mech twice his size and even more in mass, towering over him from up close. Because Megatron has shifted slightly as they stoood within the circle on avidly listening onlokers and was now right beside Dai Atlas and opposite to the high noble. But this one was not so easily intimidated by mere size, he was far too ensconced in his own superiority to fear him.

“I… I am not quite certain that the Prime interprets his visions correctly. More priests should help him in that.”

“Lord Ratbat. As he is the head of the church and Primus’s Chosen, carrying the Matrix within him - I do believe that the Lord Prime is the best interpreting our God’s messages.”

“Primus couldn’t possibly mean to put such a… low-caste nomech among us! Castes are from Primus! What’s next, he’ll be elevated over us???”

Dai Atlas didn’t answer straight away and the silence stretched. Tensions too, all around, if Megatron felt it right. He wondered if he should speak up, but the only sentiments that came to his processor were fairly rude, so he stayed silent. Though, lately it took more effort than before.

“Lord Ratbat, I myself do not profess to see Our God’s intentions clearly. But I do know that Optimus Prime has not been wrong yet. I elect to trust him in this matter, despite of your Lordship’s disagreements… and my own misgivings. We can have a conversation about the origin of castes later… but they have never been inviolable, as many recent cases prove. There are always exceptions from every law – and who better than Primus to point out these?”

Their audience started to murmur as Ratbat failed to answer and Megatron heard designations whispered around – _Orion Pax, Jazz, Ratchet_ , others he didn’t recognize – and the so far uniformly disapproving air cracked a tiny bit, some of the disdaining glances around flickered in thought or confusion. He marveled about the varied reactions and almost forgot that it was his protoform on the fire. So this was what Starscream tried to describe to him but he did not understand at the time. This was how one wielded words like weapons, to strike to one side and entice on the other. This was what he could not – yet – do, so he had best be silent or stick to formal phrases that were no weapons, but at least he didn’t cut himself on their edge either.

Ratbat’s answer – indeed if he had one – was cut off as the announcer’s clear voice soared all over them.

“All rise and bow! The Lord Optimus Prime!”

The so far totally engaged and murmuring-whispering-gossiping crowd shifted so fast that Megatron could only blink. In one klik they were surrounded by of scores of mecha of every colour and shape, and now the crowd had arranged itself into a completely different focus –that of the raised dais and the throne on it – and they stood in a sudden vacuum of cleared space. Dai Atlas uttered a swift and nearly silent expletive and waved him to follow, towing Megatron through the circles of mecha, angling roughly towards the left side of the chamber’s focal point, to a place indistinguishable from any other, that had to be his assigned place. 

Megatron’s helm was still spinning from the sudden swirl of mecha around them and followed his guide across the chamber meekly, only slightly enjoying when a smaller mechs scurried out of their way. 

“Keep up your fortunate habit of talking very little.” Dai Atlas hissed to him under the settling noise of the moving crowd “Please, do not voice any of what your field projected. Fields are all right, though you should learn to rein yours in more. Unfortunate words are… not. You could still be executed if you managed to insult the likes of Ratbat - it would be his right - and I’m not sure even the Prime could help you out of that.”

Right. Megatron scowled but nodded. He had almost forgotten what his place was in the caste order and that it was only the Prime standing between that and what nobles would do to him. The Prime, who was in the slow process of entering the chamber, shrouded in elaborate jewelry and cape, surrounded by priests and guards, his entourage cutting through the throng like a pickaxe parting softer layers in the mine. Megatron stared at him transfixed. The Prime appeared to be… glowing with an inner light, shining like a beacon – and Megatron wasn’t the only one taken by it. That was… that was truly the Chosen of Primus, shining with His light. 

“He will call you. Don’t make a mistake of presuming that it will go like it did in private. This will be – must be formal to the extreme.”

Megatron nodded again, signalling that he heard the Knight’s words and heeded them. But his attention was firmly on Optimus Prime. For the first time, he saw the mech as more than himself… and not for the title he wore, but for something the former miner had no words for. While the other nobles in the throne-chamber appeared nothing special aside from their titles, the Prime, as he reached his throne and sat, above all of them, felt perfectly right there, like he was truly something more than a mere mech and worthy of being above them. It moved something in him, deep inside, in his spark…

“I understand. I will behave.”

The audience has started in its proper pace, priests and nobles approaching the throne first in their business or petitions as etiquette and order dictated – and Megatron had time to think now than the attention was not on him, the pressure a tiny bit lessened, his spark not staccatoing in a fight-fright reflex. The whole event was an optic-opener for him, a sudden crash course of what his future would be every orn… and he had shuddered a bit at that thought and suddenly he wasn’t sure if good energon and a comfortable berth would be worth this on an ornly basis. 

“I will have to be elsewhere now, so try to be inconspicious… well,” – Dai Atlas must have realized how futile that effort would be and continued after a wry grimace – “…I mean try not to insult anymech you shouldn’t.” 

“I don’t intend to.”

He wouldn’t say how unsafe it felt when the big Knight disappeared from beside him – it must be a court thing to be able to move so fast but still remain dignified – how exposed it was to have nomech around who was the least marginally on his side. He stiffly watched the proceedings which started to become boring to say at least and tried not to look at the mechs around to him. A court official now called out designations one by one and the mecha who were called turned up at the foot of the raised dais, kneeling or bowing according to their own rank, the Prime speaking a few words to them, occassionally followed by a short exchange of words… and though Megatron couldn’t be sure, but he felt there were a lot of simpler mecha, not nobility who were called up and that it wasn’t a norm in the court. Many of them had simple paintjobs, working class alts and designations that bespoke of simpler origins. Like himself.

“Megatron from Tarn!”

He almost startled at hearing his new designation, gasping an invent through tightening vents and he was suddenly nervous again. The whispers around him started up again as he lurched and stumbled in his hurry to reach the Prime’s dais. It still felt like an eternity to reach it and he stumbled again as he knelt at the bottom step, biting his lipplates in an embarrassed save just shy of a full faceplant on the mosaic floor. A great way to introduce himself, really. Optics firmly ahead of him he heard nothing but the roar of energon in his audials until the Prime’s tone cut through the din.

“Megatron of Tarn. Welcome.”

The Prime’s voice was devoid of the gentle warmth he spoke with during their private meetings. It was the same rich alt, commanding respect and ringing with natural authority, but it was at the same time, neutral and impersonal now. It was not Optimus who sneaked over to his room during the night cycle to talk, it was The Prime sitting on his throne and far removed from him. It helped Megatron to remember the etiquette-dictated phrase…

“I am honored and privileged to be invited to your court, Lord Prime.”

He stole a glance up to the Prime and though Optimus’s expression didn’t change, his tone held a little more warmth than before and his optics widened slightly, taking in the new frame.

“Primus has great designs for you, Megatron of Tarn. Despite of your origins, I hope that you can fulfill them.”

“I will attempt to do so, My Lord Prime.” Megatron wasn’t sure how he could answer so calmly when he was shaking inside. He felt every optics in the chamber on him, exposed, new armor crawling with the feeling and he clung to the Prime’s face to anchor himself.

“I’m sure you will, Megatron.” There was the barest hint of a smile on the Prime’s face over the mask, a flash of warmth in the blue of his optics and it went a long way calming his turbulent insides “I can offer you no titles, but I will follow your path with great interest. Do not hesitate to utilize anything the Palace has to offer. Great destiny requires a lot that you do not yet have.”

“I am grateful for the opportunity, Lord Prime.”

He was, really. This, he could say with total sincerity. Once he learned the basic set of glyphs and could read – a whole new world opened up in the datapads, one he couldn’t help but devour and enjoy. The world has always fascinated him – and now he started to understand the whys, the reasons, the chains of cause and effect, see how much of it existed outside the mine, outside his limited knowledge… 

“To help on your quest, I hereby bestow upon you something I have recently created: the token of exemption from caste laws.”

Megatron heard perfectly the rising whisper behind and around him that threatened to become a roar, enraged nobles contesting the Prime’s surprise move, but his attention was ahead, on him. Optimus lifted his helm and looked his most authoritative self as he announced, over the roar, easily overcoming it, not shouting, and yet still louder than them.

“Primus wished it – I, His Chosen, am implementing it. No legislation needed in matters of religion, where my word reigns.”

“Castes are law!” Nomech knew exactly whose voice rose above the others – maybe Jazz did, but it was his job to know – but it was a common sentiment and Optimus Prime nodded from his throne. It surprised many and the outrage subsided a little.

“But exemptions are not.” Megatron thought he heard the hint of a smirk at the Prime’s tone, but he could have been mistaken. He waved Megatron to ascend the steps of the dais and in his servo a small, red badge flashed under the bright lights “It is my right to dispense any such if Primus agrees.”

That shut up a lot of the noise and Megatron, still kneeling by the dais marveled at it. Ignorant as he still was in the laws that dictated society, it still felt that the Prime scored an important goal and that the nobles that mostly made up the court visibly fumed for it.

But near the walls and edges of the great chamber another sound rose as the nobles were silenced – the many lower caste mecha who were invited deliberately now applauded loudly and from among them a young, enthusiastic voice rose in shout to a praise…

“All Hail Optimus Prime!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW... yeah, Optimus gave him an Autobot badge. I'm sure many of you wondered. :-) It means something totally different here - no factions, just going back to the root meaning of it: an autonomous bot. I'm fairly sure Optimus was quite proud of himself for coming up with it. :-P


	11. Friends?

Megatron opened the door of his apartment with nervous hesitation and an exaggerated care not to make a noise. He didn’t think it was illegal for him to leave, after all he wasn’t a prisoner or under arrest… but still. The only place he had been so far were the crystal gardens, a few of the Palace rooms, and Optimus Prime’s adjacent chambers and he was getting bored by the walls, elaborate though they were; and with his studies, interesting as they were otherwise. The gardens were nice and the crystals amazing, even with Starscream’s running commentary about their properties, but he wanted to see more. Now, that he wasn’t scared half out of his processor and could actually enjoy the spectacles that were sure to exist in the capital city… now he wanted to see those sights he only had a glimpse of.

The corridors were at half illumination and Megatron knew that most of the servants were off duty by this time and the guards who were present and watching at every doorway and intersection ignored him. He had that much clearance at least – his digits subconsciously touched the precious badge now affixed to his chestplates to confirm it was there. He still kept close to the walls, preferring their semblance of support over the open middle of the corridors. He also had a map of the Palace, courtesy to Kup, though a lot of it was marked by flashing purple which meant ‘not to go there under any circumstances’ and warm orange, meaning ‘safe place, retreat to if in trouble’. But he wasn’t interested in either of those. He wanted to see more of the glittering city that he caught barely snatches of on his way to the Palace. Surely it wasn’t forbidden? 

The hallways didn’t answer him, just stretched on endlessly and slowly led him towards what was marked on the map as a gate he could use – too many entrances were marked as nobles’ or Senators’ or other VIM’s… but this one was for the Palace staff, which he didn’t belong, not technically, but in reality still more so than any of those others. A few corridors away from his chambers, Megatron stopped and straightened his so far hunched shoulders, as he was often advised to do. He was still extremely conscious of his size and the shoulder spurs he now sported didn’t help. 

As the gate to the outside loomed closer, he invented nervously and sharp fangs lightly bit his lipplates. He had no problem admitting that he was nervous – after all it was a definite improvement from being downright terrified. The guards made no move to stop him as the scanner built into the doorframe acknowledged his ping, though he felt their sharp glances checking him out. Well, it wasn’t like mecha didn’t know about him, or so Starscream said. But he wasn’t stopped, which was the important part, and Megatron took the last steps to the outside. Finally… he could at least be alone and…

“Megatron.”

Slag. At the last klik? Really? Megatron sighed as he turned towards the new voice. From a side corridor a tall, lanky framed, mostly blue mech stepped out and approached the gate – and him. 

“Yes…?”

He didn’t look like anymech important though. Not a noble and certainly not a guardsmech or Jazz’s operatives. He looked… a simple civilian.

“Soundwave.”

The mech introduced himself with a polite, little bow of the helm, which Megatron scrambled to reciprocate without staring. The featureless faceplate was a bit unnerving.

“Soundwave: Communications. Acquaintance of Starscream.”

So at least he was not about to stop him. Hopefully. Communications didn’t sound like that and if the mech knew Starscream…

“Ummm… nice to meet you.”

“Soundwave: off duty - going home. Megatron: target of excursion?”

He stared a bit – the mech was talking really strangely – but then he scrambled to answer.

“I… uhhh… I just… want to see Iacon. I mean more of it.”

“Megatron: requires a guide?”

Well… he was just about to get happy for being alone… but in fact he didn’t have a map of the city, nor any idea of what was where and what should be seen…

“You would… do this? After your shift?”

“Affirmative. Soundwave: time aplenty.”

“Umm… right. I don’t have any idea what to see, so… I accept.”

In fact it was kind of refreshing to have a mech around, who behaved normally. Soundwave was neither disdaining nor envious, he just accepted Megatron as a mech and it was almost, almost like being together with his fellow miners, back in Tarn… 

“Suggestion: Primal Basilica and Place of Colonnades. Night illumination is told to be amazing.”

“Sure! Lead the way!”

They left the Palace together, under the watchful glances of the guards, who didn’t speak up, but Megatron was sure that they reported their – his in particular – leave and goal. Not that he minded it, he didn’t want to… escape or sneak out… just leave for a bit. 

As soon as they turned onto a bigger street, Megatron forgot his worries. It was amazing. The buildings that lined the street – palaces, really - with their immaculate white walls and towers sparkled in the glare of the hidden, carefully placed floodlights, making them look like out of fairytales. The street had that amazing, mosaiclike surface he admired on the way here and there was no traffic here, strict signs forbade vehicular traffic around the Palace Quarter, meaning all mecha walked… but not many were on the street now, for which Megatron was secretly thankful.

Soundwave was blessedly silent, letting him gape at the sights with a neutral, non-judgemental field that Megatron greatly appreciated. He was too busy to admire the sights for idle chitchat. And that was before at the end of the alley the space suddenly opened up and there, embraced in the majesty of the multicoloured lights, hundreds, maybe thousands of columns stood. As they approached from the street, the pillars at the edge of the square that were slender and barely taller than a mech, with carved capitals, opened up in gently curving lines that drew his stare and himself inward, into the open expanse among the columns… Megatron barely remembered gasping fresh air as he turned, following the curving rows of more and more columns as they grew in height and thickness and became like a forest of giants, dwarfing him and even the tallest combiner…

The Place of Colonnades. One white stone column for every Prime who lived and ruled, one silvery metal beside it for every Lord Protector; the older ones, that still mostly had pairs simpler and lower, some so close they looked joined; then, as the carved vorns telling their rule on the smooth floor grew they became single and towered over the early ones, some carved with that particular Prime’s deeds, some capped with capitals so huge they looked like they would crush the column to the ground by their weight, some gilded with the rarest metals… and every one of them illuminated by a multitude of lights of every colour he could name, and many he could not. All light sources were aimed upwards, lighting up the pillars only, enhancing their carvings in sharp relief, leaving the mecha who moved among them as dark silhouettes under the velvet canopy of the star-studded sky.

The curving, looping rows of columns seemed endless as they slowly made their way into the immense square. Megatron didn’t know there were so many Primes, that Cybertron’s history stretched so far into the past, so this place was an optic-opener in this too. But after wandering for what seemed like joors, they arrived to the other end, where, on a small clearing among the columns, a single row of identical pillars stood. This, he knew of, after Starscream exhaustingly explained to him where his designation came from. The Original Thirteen. Or, rather twelve now, as his processor tallied up the short row. 

Soundwave silently pointed to a place beyond the straight row of the twelve proudly standing, massive columns and Megatron saw it. A base of a pillar with a short, broken shaft… all done in a shimmering, barely there forcefield signifying the column that should be there, but still wasn’t. The Fallen’s. Megatron swallowed uneasily. Since learning more about him, he could perfectly understand how others reacted to his choice of a designation. Not that he would change it now…

And as they moved on and stepped over an invisible line, the multicoloured lights of the pillars were suddenly paled by the radiance of the Primal Basilica that appeared behind them, like a shining mountain of light. The columns and their lights were separated by a dark, dampening field so their subtle colours would not be disturbed by the immense radiance of the cathedral that was perfect, shining, sparkling white even in the deepest darkness of the night. It looked otherwordly, floating over the city in its immensity… and Megatron suddenly turned resentful, since so much energon as it took to light the basilica up so much for one night would light properly the mine’s every corridors for vorns instead of their flickering, shadowy dimness...

“It’s… it is…” he shouldn’t say anything to Soundwave, he didn’t actually know this mech, didn’t know if he could be trusted or not…

“Lights: excessive.”

Megatron looked into the featureless, mirror-smooth faceplate, trying to judge his sincerity… but he couldn’t see anything to decide. He sighed.

“Necessary, I guess. It’s a symbol, right? Primus’s power and the Prime’s rule.”

“Affirmative.”

“Well… it is amazing.”

To be perfectly honest he couldn’t for the life of him identify Optimus Prime, the mech who snuck into his chambers at night, who had such a mischievous twinkle in his optics, who taunted the nobles so cleverly and slid out of their anger like an electric eel… with the untouchable magnificience of the sparkling white, immense Basilica that commanded awe, bowing to its power and a sense of insignificance to any in its shadow. He glanced back at the pillars that represented the past Primes – and from the elaborately decorated pillars near the end of the lines he guessed that there must not have been many Primes like Optimus lately. Of course… which Prime would have elevated a simple miner before him? He was young, but not that young as not to remember Zeta Prime before him. Optimus might not have visited the mines for show like his predecessor – but he still considered the miners more mechs and not drones, like that one. 

“Can we go in?”

Soundwave nodded his helm to the side and didn’t answer for a few kliks – probably checking it via his comms, Megatron guessed, which he could have done as well, if only he knew what or whom to ask.

“Visitation: negative at the time. Optimus Prime leads the second dark cycle prayers.”

“Wait, what? Optimus is doing what? He does that every night?”

“Affirmative. Prime: must lead at least one prayer per orn. Optimus Prime: prefers nightly one.”

“Huhh. I didn’t know that.” But at least now he knew where Optimus had gone after their usual evening talks. He knew the Prime to be very busy, but even during the night…?

“Previously: morning prayers. Optimus Prime: prefers to attend Senate instead.”

He liked this Prime more and more every time he discovered something about him. It wasn’t like Megatron didn’t believe in Primus, but religion for him used to be a quick prayer before setting off a charge in the mine and the compulsory gathering every decaorn during which a bored priest rattled off the service… and in his opinion the ruler of Cyberton should be managing the Senate and not the church. Something of his thoughts must have showed on his expression, which was far less inscrutable than Soundwave’s, because the blue mech nodded shortly and continued.

“Optimus Prime: unlike any Prime before.”

“I’m glad he is… say, Soundwave, do you know any place nearby where we can drink a cube? Preferably one neither of us gets thrown out of?”

As soon as he asked it, Megatron cursed himself. He had forgotten that he had no credits, none at all, so any bars were out of question. But it was embarrassing to retract his request so fast…

“Affirmative.” Soundwave nodded and queerly addressed Megatron’s sudden concern “Soundwave: may invite Megatron for that cube?”

“uhhh... thanks.”

Soundwave turned and gestured with one thin, long arm away from the Basilica and the twinkling columns.

“Center of Iacon: expensive bars for nobles. Behind Prime’s Palace: one bar caters for staff. Acceptable?”

“Sure, lead on. I have no idea where to go. In Tarn we had one bar only that tolerated us. Now… I wouldn’t know where to go even back there…”

“Change of conditions: must be jarring.”

“You can’t imagine.” Megatron sighed and let his shoulders slump again “I hardly know who I am these orns.”

“Megatron: will find out.” Soundwave’s voice held conviction, something Megatron himself didn’t quite feel, so how was he…? The mech was more and more mysterious every breem… though not in a bad way, not in a threatening way… just queer. 

The streets were still fancy behind the Palace, but not on the level he saw earlier. These were still not residential buildings, more like smaller palaces and fancy apartments, offices and… a lot of bars, restaurants and clubs, none of them resembling to anything he had known before. Tarn’s single oil-house and two energon bars were run-down hovels compared to these. Most of these occupied a whole building, several glittering floors of elegant, elaborate fine-dining with huge windows proudly displaying wealth; dance floors, secretive clubs that turned more inwards, locking out any passersby’s stray glances… and a lot of mecha who were clearly high-caste and cared not a whit about two simpler mecha on the street.

Megatron noticed that Soundwave, though silent as always was keeping towards the side of the street, rather than walking in the middle of it and he sped up a tiny bit before turning into a side-street that had no exclusive establishments in it and therefore no nobles either. It was still clean and nice, but ignored by the higher ups like it wasn’t there. In the middle of the street Soundwave stepped up to a nondescript door over which a small sign advertised Maccadam’s New Oil House, with the compulsory markings of what castes it catered for and he went in with the still staring Megatron in tow. 

“Maccadam’s: cheapest oil-house in central quarter. Energon: high quality.”

Inside, the establishment was huge and probably sprawled all over several buildings’ ground level, maybe on other floors as well. The interior decoration and furniture was eclectic too, like whichever part he looked at, was from a different style, era or origin. One side-room even looked disturbingly organic. It was also mostly full of patrons and Megatron could see a lot of Palace liveries and badges among the mechs… as well as other nobles’ crests on their staff and servants and of course a lot of middle-caste mecha, not affiliated with the Houses. It was also a delightful relief that barely anymech paid their entry any attention.

Once they sat down by a small side-table and Soundwave returned with two cubes of perfectly normal, not-too-fancy, mild highgrade Megatron felt more relaxed than any time since his ID was called on that fateful orn. Here he could relax comfortably into the seat’s backrest which wasn’t carved or bejewelled and peek at mecha without it being called rude. Of course middle caste mecha were still higher ranking than him, but with his new frame he fit right in – military models were not that many in the bar, but he could catch a glance of one or two nearby. And the red badge he has… well, its true meaning wasn’t exactly common knowledge yet, but at a glance it could pass for a House badge, Megatron supposed. 

And Soundwave was truly an excellent companion. Silent until there was something important to say, unobtrusive until there was something to help – if Megatron were more suspicious he would have questioned his motives for being so accomodating. Some of it must have been in his field, for the blue mech spoke up suddenly, answering, as he did once before to his unasked questions.

“Soundwave: not often chatting. Providing information if asked: my function. Also gathering. Megatron: uncomfortable with it?”

“Umm, no, quite the opposite! My tutors speak more than enough… I just… wondered why you accompanied me and helped out. After all we’ve… just met.”

“Soundwave: acquaintance of Starscream.” The blue mech visibly hesitated to continue and Megatron glanced at him interestedly. His speech also turned a bit less stilted and more normal, emotion-filled as he continued. “Also: Optimus Prime – with Megatron - plan to change society. Soundwave: has interest in this. Caste system is detrimental for future. Soundwave: may be able to help.”

Soundwave’s tone was passionate enough for Megatron to trust the truth of his words immediately. 

“How? I mean, yeah, it sucks slag, but how to change? It has always been like this.”

“Negative. Histories rewritten: but old versions sometimes available. Caste system: not from Primus. May be changed. Optimus Prime: knows this.”

“But then… why doesn’t he change it? He can make laws, right?”

“Senate makes laws. Senate works: in factions. Nobles make up most. Factions: prevent changes.”

Oh yes, this was what Starscream started to explain a few orns back, but they didn’t have time for it then. Something about the Prime not able to do whatever he wanted and complicated voting systems.

“Past Primes: ruled completely. Some: made bad laws. Senate curbed their power over the vorns. Now Primes: rule in name only.”

“So now the Senate makes the bad laws so Prime must have his power back?”

“Affirmative. Two-branched rule: leads to excess. One side acquires power, changes bad laws, but goes too far: abuses it. Then it all change: other side grabs power and it repeats indefinitely. History shows this cycle detrimental for society.”

“So… neither the Primes, nor the Senate rule well? Then who can?”

“Senate and Primes: source of legitimacy: tradition. Not best source. Common mecha also should have a say in making laws. High castes: too far removed from lower. Separation: artificial. Rule should be three or more branched. Each branch checks the others, prevents extreme laws.”

Megatron felt that these were radical ideas Soundwave told him, might even be forbidden or illegal. Still… they felt right, especially with the court events still fresh in his processor. Theories that Starscream had explained to him and Soundwave’s ideas churned in his processor, made sense, made system… and spawned possibilities. Ideas even he wasn’t sure of, but which was sure to be worth exploring more. He gulped down some highgrade from the cube and thought about the possible implications.

“Then beside the Senate and the Prime there should be… a third power, you mean? Someone, or something from lower castes?”

“Ideally: no castes. But presently: affirmative. Representation of lower castes: a must. Balance out power of nobles.”

Megatron suddenly put down the cube as realisation struck.

“Is this why Optimus Prime, well, why Primus picked… me?”

Soundwave nodded emphatically. Megatron gulped.

“Affirmative. Optimus Prime: builds middle caste faction in Senate. Still not enough. Lower castes: must also be represented.”

Megatron stared back at the blue mech, dismayed a little. He was not a politician, like the Prime! He wasn’t sure what career he should choose now that he could, but politics was definitely not it. 

“Optimus Prime: could have changed Megatron’s caste. He did not. He created a badge of exemption, but Megatron remained low caste. Soundwave: does not know Prime’s plans. But this must be deliberate.”

“I don’t…”

But their conversation was cut short.

“And here, I thought I knew all of us stationed around here. Who might you be, soldier?”

The new voice that cut their coversation short was deep, gruff and came from above them, from a mech towering over their sitting frames and shining deep purple and black in the bar’s lights. A warframe obviously by the size, the demeanor and the barely hidden weapons; Megatron glanced at the markings on the shoulder that proclaimed him as enlisted soldier in the Iacon Defence Forces. He stood, noting with satisfaction that he was the taller of them.

“I’m not a soldier.” I’m…” – the pause was barely there, but his new designation still didn’t come automatically – “Megatron.”

“Not a soldier?” The mech lifted a heavy brow plate and looked skeptical. He wasn’t fazed by Megatron’s size like the nobles before. His high-grade roughened voice turned ironic, like hearing an inner joke “What else? A warframe turned poet?”

“I’m a miner.” Megatron had never been ashamed of his trade – why should he be? He was constructed for it. 

“A miner.” The tone was incredulous this time, brow plates drew together as red optics stared all over his frame. “And just what is a miner doing here?”

Soundwave stood as well and his dry tone answered the question before Megatron could.

“His business: not your concern. Leave us.”

“Hey, creep, I asked him, not you!” Red optics flashed dangerously and the warrior tried to tower over the thin mech he obviously knew from before. Soundwave didn’t look intimidated to Megatron, even though he must have been half the mass of the tankformer. At most. If anything he became colder and somehow more dangerous… though nothing changed in his posture or expression. Or lack of the latter anyway, Megatron thought, trusting him to handle the situation. The warframe didn’t look friendly and he was obviously swaying with high-grade charge. 

“Answer: the same.” Soundwave repeated. “Now leave us.”

“You won’t order me around, creep!”

Apparently tavern brawls started the very same way among middle castes as among miners, Megatron mused as the warrior swung a heavy arm over Soundwave, who ducked it nimbly. It was a foregone contest anyway, with the warframe already unsteady on his pedes, while Soundwave avoided his weak swings with ease. Megatron didn’t have to lift a servo to help him. A simple push put the warframe on his aft on the floor, from where he looked around bewildered, while some mechs sitting nearby smirked or laughed at him. 

“Stop this now!”

The new voice rang with clear authority and for a klik Megatron thought it to be a noble’s and his fuel tank constricted. Then, as he turned, he saw something that might have been even worse: an Enforcer. Nobles weren’t turning up in Tarn a lot, but Enforcers did and miners all learned to fear them far earlier and far more than nobles with whom they never really met. Old fears rose and made him slouch again.

“Officer.” Soundwave didn’t look phased by the Enforcer so much. “We were accosted by this inebriated mech, which I averted. No harm was done in anything.”

The Enforcer glanced around and this time even the drunk warframe decided that it was better not to press anything. No injuries, no broken things and no accusations meant that the Enforcer couldn’t act against them. The black and white mech nodded, though the frown remained still on his brow under the red chevron and pinged them for their IDs. Megatron hastily complied along with the others and he wasn’t surprised when, after nodding to Soundwave and dismissing the warframe, the Enforcer’s cold-blue optics snapped to him.

“Megatron of Tarn? Miner caste?”

Megatron exvented heavily and nodded. He was sure the mech would find something to hold him accountable for. He just knew it. Enforcers were always like that. Soundwave spoke up again, accepting the displeased look for his boldness.

“Officer. Megatron has caste exemption permit, allowing him to be here…”

But the Enforcer waved him silent.

“It is included in his ID. But where is the travel permit?”

A brief, but poignant silence fell, during which Soundwave and Megatron glanced at each other helplessly.

“I… I don’t have any.”

“Your residence is listed in Tarn. What is the reason for you to be here? I expect the explanation to be good.”

Megatron thought fast. Obviously his newborn fame hasn’t filtered down to this particular Enforcer yet.

“I was... ordered to come here. By... ummm...” – it was highly unlikely for the Enforcer to believe it, but it was the truth - ”... by the Lord Optimus Prime.”

Oh yes, he was right. The Enforcer didn’t believe him at all and it made him furious.

“That lie won’t do any good for you! Already in trouble and...”

“Officer.” Soundwave looked a tiny bit more worried than before, but his tone was calm enough. “It is the truth. Lord Optimus Prime gave Megatron that badge personally. I’m sure it has to be in the records. Ultra Magnus would never fail to make such edicts from the Lord Prime official.”

The Enforcer’s brow remained stormy, but a crack of hesitance broke through. Soundwave was fairly much known to be truthful and not given to pranks or jokes. Megatron watched them avidly, highly interested how this would play out. 

“You, Megatron, will come with me!”

“Where to?” Megatron was surprised by himself for daring to ask.

“May I accompany him?” Soundwave looked troubled.

“To the precinct headquarters and no, you may not! I will get to the bottom of this!”

“Yes, Officer.” Megatron swallowed uneasily. Badge or not, Prime’s favor or not, he was getting worried. Alone among Enforcers was uncomfortably close to old and bad memories. D-16 had been implicated in a brawl only once, but he would never forget the dark cycles in the holding cells.

“I will attempt to notify the Lord Prime.” Soundwave didn’t even try to convince the Enforcer to change his processor, apparently he knew the futility of such an act. Instead he tried to calm Megatron, which he appreciated. “May I have the precinct name and your designation, Officer?”

The Enforcer hesitated for a klik, like Soundwave’s words influenced him somewhat, but then he steeled himself and his answer was cold again.

“Central Precinct of course. I am Officer Prowl.” He started, then aborted a move to put stasis cuffs on Megatron, instead he stiffly waved him towards the exit ahead of him. “If the records are in order he will have nothing to fear.”

Megatron scowled and scoffed, but he went obediently enough. The Enforcer Station wasn’t far from the oil house, half hidden between two palazzos and they went there on foot, gathering rather more attention than Megatron – and apparently Prowl too - would have liked. Inside, it was as different from the Tarnian Enforcer Station he had known as the Prime’s Palace was from the mines. It was obvious that these Enforcers had to deal with more inebriated nobles than brawling miners and it showed on the place. Even the cell he was put in was clean, had a more comfortable berth than his own in the miner barracks – and the Enforcers were queerly polite, even with him. 

Still, Megatron was worried. Not for long, though, as barely a joor later a frazzled-looking Enforcer came for him and nervously escorted him to the precinct’s main room... and he understood the reason for it as soon as he saw Optimus Prime in his full priestly regalia and surrounded by priests and guards, while the Enforcers stood or knelt around nervously. His bright colours and jewels shone among the black and white mechs like a sun and they were milling around him like frightened protoforms. Megatron smiled inwardly. The mech had that effect on anyone apparently. 

“Lord Prime, I apologise! We didn’t know!” The Precinct Captain, a minor noble at that, was nearly bent double in front of the Prime as he tried to appease the angry-looking Prime, who - as Megatron saw if he looked closely – was dead tired and understandably annoyed at having to postpone his recharge even further. 

“I understand. Just let him go and forget the case.”

“But we can’t just close a case without...”

“SHUT UP! The Enforcer Captain hissed to Prowl, who tried to speak up. Megatron secretly admired his determination for duty in front of the Prime. Or was it stupidity? “I’ll have you reprimanded for this!”

Optimus Prime, already moving to leave had turned back and spoke up again, frowning lightly.

“Captain Highdrive. Your Enforcer did what was his duty. There is no reason to punish him for it. I commend him instead.”

It was almost funny, how the Captain gaped at him, completely unable to answer. Optimus Prime turned towards the respectful, but calm Enforcer and spoke to him directly and seriously.

“If I personally accept responsibility for Megatron being in Iacon, until the matter of his permit is resolved to your satisfaction, would it be acceptable?”

Enforcer Prowl bowed deeply and answered, his voice still steady enough so that even the Prime nodded approving.

“It would, Lord Prime. I apologize if I seem pedantic, but law and coding compelled me to act as I did.”

Of course, Megatron suddenly realized. Common Enforcers were cold constructed, just like miners, and their coding was even more restrictive to prevent them from taking advantage of their power. Optimus Prime apparently realized the same thing, because his words were more sympathetic than before.

“I understand, Officer Prowl. I fully understand...”

They went back to the Palace amongst rather more attention than they would have preferred and Megatron didn’t want to speak while there were so many mecha around them, just followed the Prime and shouldered the looks. Only when they shed most of their retinue and neared their rooms did he speak up uneasily.

“I’m... I apologize, Lord Prime... Optimus.”

“For what?” Optimus glanced at him surprised.

“For... having to... rescue me and for causing trouble... “

“No. There is nothing to apologize for. It was an oversight, something we didn’t think of to solve – but it definitely wasn’t your fault. I’m actually glad that you saw the city and... I hope you enjoyed it?”

There was a rather tired smile on the Prime’s face but his words were as honest as ever. 

“I did. It is amazing. I hope to see more... and talk with more mecha... well, those who would talk to me, like Soundwave.”

“Ohh... your companion there, I heard.” Optimus fell silent for a klik. “Megatron... I’m not saying to mistrust him, but... please, be careful. A lot of mecha will try to use you for their own goals and they are almost as dangerous as nobles. Mecha here think that you’re... simple. I know it is not true, but they are more experienced in manipulating others.”

“I know. But I think... I think Soundwave is honest.”

“Well... in that case... be glad that you found a friend. It’s rare enough here to be precious.”

Optimus smiled and with a quick motion hugged Megatron’s shoulders. The contact was electric. The hug was simply warm and friendly, but with undercurrents of something deeper. Megatron discovered with some surprise that he wasn’t afraid or intimidated by it any more – in fact the hug felt... right. When Optimus Prime let go of him and stood to leave, he almost wanted to reach out and prolong the touch. But that much he didn’t dare... not yet.

“I hope one orn you will consider me a friend as well.”

“I... do. In a way.” He stammered instead, standing as well. Words like _Prime_ and _friend_ still didn’t quite go together in his processor. Optimus must have felt it, for he just sighed a little.

“You don’t have to say what I wish to hear. Only when you mean it.”

Megatron nodded, ashamed a bit. In a way he did mean it – he did trust Optimus, like he would a friend. But the gap between them was still to wide for friendship to fully exist. 

“I sort of... mean it. I mean, sometimes I still don’t quite believe that I’m here and the distance is still so huge between us... but I’m... getting there.”

“That’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite what I wanted here, but Prowl hogged the scene with the warframe, which was to be Megs's first taste of physical combat, and some confidence-building. I didn't even plan Prowl to be in the fic! :S  
> Well. *shrugs* Can't help it now. :-)


	12. Ball

“And then there will be a grand ball at Lord Mirage’s Palace, which your Lordship should attend.”

Optimus Prime cast a look at his assistant who read him out the orn’s schedule, one that spoke several volumes. Everyone by this time knew that he hated formal receptions and parties, even with those he considered friends or sympathizers and he used every polite way he could to get out of those social obligations.

“Mirage insisted to remind you that his Turn of Century is of great importance in noble circles. Your attendance would greatly strenghten his position.” Jazz added his input to the assistant’s words, popping up suddenly by his side. Optimus didn’t react to it – he had known Jazz for a long time and got used to his sheenigans - but his assistant had startled badly and dropped the datapad he held onto his lap. Optimus absentmindedly handed him the thing back and waved his stuttered apology away.

“It’s okay, Stylus. Jazz, I was looking forward to a free evening with Megatron. I was planning for it in fact.”

“I know, Optimus, I know... you have few enough of those. I’m sorry. But you can take him with you... Mirage won’t mind, I’m sure.”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

Jazz at least had the mind to look guilty. He didn’t change his position though.

“I know… but still, it would be advantageous to attend.”

Optimus sighed. He knew it too. Having a few nobles on his side was invaluable and he couldn’t afford to lose even one. Might even gather a few more… Mirage tended to invite his similar-minded friends for his gatherings. Since his Sire was almost completely retired from active life, the young noble de facto led his House and its affiliates and steered it slowly, but surely to Optimus Prime’s side. It was an asset he must cultivate, regardless of his own personal aversion for parties.

“I’ll attend then. Please notify Megatron that he too should attend and have Starscream brief him on Mirage’s House and their situation. He might as well learn what a nasty quagmire noble politics is.”

“I will. He is with Kup now. That new frame quite becomes of him and he’s getting better with it very fast. Kup is praising him continually now.”

“That’s good to hear. I noticed it too, he’s much less awkward than he used to be at first. But do tell Kup to discourage him from trying himself in gladiatorial games – that would not look good and he’s expressed a more than passing interest in them. He can practice with anymech in the Palace guard or warframes, that’s… okay. But no gladiatorial bouts.”

‘Aye, Sir. We wouldna want it.”

“So… since I am attending Mirage’s Ball, who else is going to be there that I must know of…?”

Jazz of course had that answer, he sometimes appeared to know more than the nobles knew of themselves. Optimus enjoyed his dry vit, if not the subject and as they went over the orn’s topics he decided that he might even enjoy the evening entertainment. Maybe Megatron would too. Mirage was considerate to invite more than a few guests from the military, which should help him to mingle.

Several joors later they sat in the Prime’s carriage and Optimus smiled at the shock on the former miner’s faceplates as he explained why they couldn’t walk or drive the short distance to their destination. It was truly ridiculous.

“The law that nomech may drive in the Palace quarter is one of our oldest still in force. Not even historical research could tell where it originates, but the noble Senators defend it to their last cog. Even the liberal ones. It is tradition. What makes it truly ridiculous is that fliers can transform and fly here, the law only forbids ground vehicle alts.”

Megatron nodded, the frown still sitting on his brow.

“But we could… walk. It’s not even far.”

“You could.” Optimus sighed. “But I certainly can’t. Apparently it is unseemly for a Prime to either walk or drive on public roads. I hate it. It makes impossible for me to mingle with mecha. I have to travel everywhere in this… carriage.”

“That’s… it must be chafing.”

“It is, believe me. But if I make small, unimportant concessions to traditions, the nobles accept my more radical propositions. Some of them, anyhow. Did Starscream tell you about Lord Mirage’s House?”

“Yes. Exhaustingly.”

“He likes to talk, I heard.” There was a smirk hidden in the Prime’s tone.

“He does. He likes to hear his own voice. But he also knows so much… it’s hard to believe he’s military.”

“That’s the caste system… it causes mecha to remain where they are instead of where they should belong or want to belong… it has come to a point, my analysts tell me, where it stifles the economy so much that Cybertron’s growth is slowing.”

Optimus fell silent as their carriage came to a stop and servants sprang there to open its doors. Megatron fell in behind him as their entourage slowly proceeded up the stairs and into a huge chamber, already filled with mecha of every frame and colour. Nobles, of corse, mostly and Optimus took a deep invent and set his processor to the half-jokingly called ‘noble mode’, meaning making idle, formal chitchat loaded with poisoned barbs. At least his faceplate covered most of his expression, for which he was eternally grateful. As an archivist he never had to worry about showing his emotions, but it would have been unfortunate as a Prime. 

Inside, of course was as glittering, shining and decorated as credits could make it; the ancient walls were literally covered with crystals, precious metals and gemstones, spiced with organic fabrics and materials. The tables by the walls groaned under the weight of the most select and expensive foods – some of which even Optimus was not sure what it was made from. They sure looked delicious, though; if there was one thing he truly enjoyed in being the Prime, it was the delicious treats he so rarely had access to before and he knew that Megatron too shared this innocent indulgence of luxury. But before he could reach the tables, he had to cross the throngs of mecha first.

Nobles swarmed around him in waves dictated by their rank, wealth and the always shifting, invisible lines of influence and power. Compliments, obeisances and praises echoed in many tones from many vocalizers, most of them empty rotes, only some sounding honestly meant. Optimus answered them with a mixture of ease of long practice, learned tactic and his own natural well-meaning naivety that most of his advisors considered dangerous, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t get rid of. No matter how inimical he knew a particular noble to be, he could never give up hope that maybe one orn, with one argument, act or gesture he could change them. 

Megatron was still behind him, his silent, uneasy presence Optimus felt without turning to look. It was mirrored in many other optics and expressions – nobles approaching him inevitably cast an undecipherable glance somewhere behind him and their optics would tighten minutiaely or their lipplates would draw to a quickly represed scowl.. or their voices would break slightly as shock, anger and disdain registered and was quickly supressed to avoid offending him. Megatron’s field spiked sharply at every such glance and Optimus truly felt sorry for him. It must have been a nightmare to stay there, subject to those glances and know exactly what they meant. But so far he kept silent and his own expression carefully bland… and only Optimus felt the twitches of his field.

But inevitably the moment came when one of the guests deigned to acknowledge his presence too aloud. It was the General of Iacon’s small defensive garrison, a mech of an old noble family, but with strong ties to the military for many generations. Also, coincidentally, in the retinue of Mirage’s House, strongly beholden to them financially. 

“Megatron of Tarn.”

“General Cyclone.”

The general’s visage was displeased, but not so much that Optimus could call out him upon it. Megatron kept his neutral expression on his faceplates by sheer will, Optimus was sure. 

“So. I hear that you are interested in a military carreer?”

Megatron nodded, still reserved, but acknowledging that any sign of acceptance, even a grudging one was a step forward. Optimus stayed silent, curious how the exchange would play out, not wanting to steer it himself until needed.

“I might be, General Cyclone. I am told that I have some affinity for it.”

“We’ll see that. I doubt a few decaorns’ worth of training could change a miner much, but we’ll see.”

“I know that anything I claim to learn will be exhaustingly tested...”

“We, in the military do accept true talents, you know?”

“Low-born talents to become grunts or cannon-fodder?”

“Well, not every mech may become a General...”

Optimus then was approached by a neutral Senator and drawn to the side for a semi-private conversation on an upcoming law with him and a few of his friends. He cast a worried glance back, but Megatron was chatting with the General, still a bit stiff, but certainly not in any sort of danger. With Jazz’s agents and Mirage’s well-trained servants keeping an optic on his situation, Optimus felt safe to turn his attention to the Senators and ‘put his charm to good use’, as Ratchet sometimes told him. In a few kliks they relocated to a side-chamber and sometime in the heat of the interesting debate Optimus stopped worrying about Megatron actively. 

A few joors later they were at an agreement, a hard-won one and toasting with high-grade to celebrate it, when a guard had entered the chamber uninvited and before anyone could reprimand him he blurted out his message:

“Lord Prime! There has been a…” – the guard glanced around and bit the word off before continuing – “…Jazz urgently requests your presence!”

“What happened?” Optimus was already standing and the nobles around scrambled to their pedes as well and tried to look nonchalant about it. 

“It’s that m… Megatron, My Lord.”

Optimus invented heavily and sped up his parting words from the Senator as much as propriety allowed. Stepping outside, the first thing he saw was Mirage hurrying out from another side-chamber, looking frazzled, though it took someone knowing him well to see that.

“I was called away, Lord Prime and Jazz was investigating something that turned out to be fabricated. It must have been a plot to get Megatron alone.”

Optimus swore inwardly and hurried even more. His retinue, all smaller mecha could barely keep up with him and he had just realized how far from the main reception chamber he was taken for this negotiation. The whole thing felt more and more a deliberate setup and it worried him. Megatron was certainly not capable of dealing with plotting nobles alone yet. 

But as he entered the reception room, he couldn’t see anything special at first glance. Megatron, like some of the other warframes towered over most guests and though there was a crowd around him, he didn’t look to be in danger… if anything he was politely bemused. The nobles around him looked calm enough as well from a distance. Optimus slowed down his steps and gathered his dignity and authority about him, ready to deal with whatever it turned out to be. Jazz materialized beside him suddenly and at his serious expression started to worry Optimus again. The head of Secret Service didn’t do worried often. His voice was low and directed to Optimus only.

“He was challenged and accepted it. Dunno how Star Saber got into the party or why he did this, but he did and I’ll have some words with Dai Atlas about it.”

“Challenged, why? How?”

“Star Saber claims that he…”

But by then they got close enough to hear it with the Knight’s own words. Shouts, rather.

“YOU DARE TO DEFILE THE CHURCH?!?”

Megatron leaned back from the sheer volume of the roar, but he answered calmly enough, only with a barest hint of anger in his tone.

“I defiled nothing. You asked if I have seen a corrupt priest and since I have, I told you the truth.”

“Priests are pious and sacrosanct! You lie, filthy miner!”

Megatron was about to answer – and lose his calm by the look of it – when Optimus finally arrived and smoothly inserted himself between the spitting mad Knight and the annoyed Megatron.

“There is no need for name-calling, Star Saber. What seems to be the problem?”

“Lord Prime! I know that this… this… mech is under your protection, but he insulted the Church!”

Optimus sighed inwardly. Star Saber was religious, but not normally this… zealot he was presenting himself now. But the unfortunate fact was that priests could only be criticized and questioned by their equals and never anymech from lower castes. Caste laws protected them as much as they did every higher castes, so Optimus would have to act to calm the situation and defuse it… if he could.

“I’m sure it must have been a misunderstanding…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence. Rare as it was these orns to be interrupted, but Star Saber apparently felt sure enough of himself to do so.

“I understand Lord Prime, that for some mysterious reason you allow him to be above the law… but I didn’t call for him to be persecuted! I demand that he atones for his sacrilege by a duel!”

Ohh, slag. That he couldn’t defuse or order to stop. Duels were the traditional pastime of the nobility and an accepted, even celebrated tool in their clan intrigues. It was the reason why every noble spoke in a way it couldn’t be taken as an insult or affront, it was the reason why capable swordmecha, like Star Saber were treated with caution and respect, even though they had no political clout or economical value… and it was the reason why Mirage, capable as he was still maintained his distance from him, not committing himself openly to the Prime’s side. And Megatron was now drawn into a verbal trap and challenged…

“Have you agreed to it, Megatron?”

“He said that I must…” But the large mech didn’t look sorry for it – of course he had no idea who Star Saber was.

“He agreed! I demand a duel now!”

“Right now?” Optimus groaned. If he had a little time he might still do something… “And what does our gracious host says about it? It is Lord Mirage’s Palace…”

“If not here, then I guess even on the street is good enough for the likes of… him!”

Mirage looked helpless and Jazz silently fuming… but neither of them had any great ideas how to solve this. Nor had Optimus himself, unfortunately. Megatron, strangely looked the calmest of them, like he wasn’t worried about duelling with a slightly deranged noblemech, coincidentally acclaimed to be the greatest swordsmecha on Cybertron... which he was unlikely to know about.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to postpone this…?”

There was a single klik, during which Star Saber’s blue optics dimmed and he hesitated, casting an uncertain look at Optimus. But before he could act and encourage this tiny doubt, the swordsmech drew himself up to his considerable height and the look hardened, his servo swept a straight line in front of him… and he shook his helm. 

“I even grant… him the choice of weapons!” He waved magnanimously, ever the one for grand gestures.

“He should have that choice by the laws of the duel anyway…” Mirage murmured, lipplates twitching in a grimace. “He is the one called out after all.”

Star Saber shrugged away the sentiment as inconsequential and Optimus saw that for a nanoklik, Mirage too considered a challenge towards the rude noble. But it was for just a klik… Mirage was far too disciplined to act out of anger or because he was provoked. 

“I chose bare servos then.” Megatron announced and all nobles present stared at him like he grew a second helm. Even Star Saber couldn’t find words in his shock. Optimus almost grinned at their expressions, though he was still worried. Bare servo fighting was a commoner thing, something lower castes, who couldn’t afford weapons or the training for them, employed. Nobles very rarely, if ever entered into such combat. And considering that though Star Saber was fairly large for a noble, but Megatron still had a helm or so height on him, along with quite some mass… it was possibly somewhat less worrying than any weapons’ fight.

Mirage must have thought the same, because he had his servants quickly clear a fairly large space in the middle of the chamber, mark it off with portable cordons and generally clear away the more breakable and valuable statues that dotted the chamber liberally. Megatron looked ready at once and he smirked at Star Saber meticulously removing his cape and all his adornments to reveal a frame a lot lighter than his. He looked calm and collected, though his field flickered with hidden anxiety. Fighting a noble carried an entirely different meaning for him than worry for his physical wellbeing and Optimus felt he had to assure him.

“The duel was initiated and in fact insisted by Star Saber. There will be no consequences to you, no matter the outcome. The rules forbid killing one’s opponent, though injury is allowed.”

“How is the end decided then?”

“Duels, unless agreed otherwise, go on until one yields or unable to continue. The referee may also call an end if necessary.”

Megatron nodded and his red optics measured up Star Saber, now devoid of his jewelry and cape and talking to his assistant at the other side of the ring.

“His preferred weapon is the sword, I take it?”

Optimus nodded and put his servo on Megatron’s shoulder, tightening lightly.

“He is fast and flexible. Don’t let his gloating manner deceive you. He is a very capable fighter, feared by most… though I never saw him fight bare servo.”

Jazz materialized beside them and spoke up in a low tone.

“He has no claws, Megs, but you can use yours, it’s not against the rules. But he will try to deceive you somehow, take you down with a grand move or somehow that makes you look bad.”

“He is somewhat known for making grand gestures.” Optimus grimaced. Megatron nodded, silent again, focused and fairly calm.

Star Saber, on the other side of the ring was far from being silent though.

“Let’s start! The sooner this filth is disposed of the better we are!”

There was a tiny grimace only on Megatron’s faceplates before he stepped into the ring. Optimus admired the former miner’s self-restraint. He wouldn’t be easily provoked, which was a good thing in his position. What he thought inside… was another matter.

The opponents in the ring, the nobles in attendance quickly gathered all around it, eager to see the spectacle. 

“There is no killing in the duel!”

Optimus found it worrying that Mirage felt it necessary to reiterate that particular rule. By the look of him, Jazz thought the same.

“Can’t do anything, Prime, I’m sorry. Too many spectators. They chose the venue cleverly.”

“Who are ‘they’, Jazz? Find that out while I deal with this here. Star Saber wouldn’t dare to actually kill Megatron in front of me.”

Jazz nodded and disappeared within the throng of mecha, like a wisp of smoke. Optimus sighed and turned back towards the duelists in the circle. Star Saber was strutting around like he owned the place, while Megatron stood in one place, swinging his arms, loosening the joints. Mirage had a frown on his brow as he watched them, the noble being nominated as the judge and referee of the duel.

“Ready?”

Twin nods answered his question and for the first time, Star Saber actually turned to face Megatron, though still with a disdaining air. Not even the strangeness of unarmed combat was able to make a dent in his confidence and sense of superiority, but Optimus saw at least two other warframes, including General Cyclone from earlier in the circle who looked at Megatron measuring him up… and their subtle nods showed that at least not every mech bet on Star Saber. 

Megatron widened his stance and crouched slightly. With his stable and heavy pedes he looked an immovable object – while the slightly smaller Star Saber danced around him nimbly like he still had a sword or two in his servo. Optimus wouldn’t put a hidden blade past the noblemech, but so far he tried to annoy Megatron with light taps that the former miner easily avoided or deflected. He looked clumsier as they moved around the ring, clumsy compared to Star Saber’s nimble movements and… and Optimus lifted a brow plate and smirked a little under his mask. Megatron was better than this lately, far better if Kup was to be believed… so he had to be playing on his clumsiness. Clever.

And Star Saber was falling for it. His blue optics started to glow with confidence and lipplates drew to a cruel smile as he continued to dance around Megatron, forcing the larger mech to turn and turn to keep him in his sight. Hits started to became stronger, though still not denting the strong plating – but Megatron rocked and grimaced a few times when a blow connected to somewhere more sensitive. He was still just defending himself, ducking and deflecting blows, and Optimus suddenly realized that it was more than just a deception. Megatron, the low-caste former miner was deep down still afraid to actually hit a noble, something that only a few decaorns earlier would have been a cause for instant execution to him. Optimus wasn’t a fighter by any measure of the world, but he noticed an aborted move that would have conected to Star Saber’s helm... then another when Megatron didn’t follow up an opening the noblemech left... 

Clangs of metal rang in the chamber, soft hisses of hydraulics powering limbs and scratching of pedes on the floor, the duellists used the whole of the ring for their deadly dance. The stark silver of Megatron caught the coloured lights from above and in quick flashes it answered the bolder colours of the swordsmech. More and more they got closer, more and more the blows connected and started to dent armour... and though Megatron still moved deftly around, it was mainly his armour that started to show the dents. Optimus invented nervously, barely paying attention to anymech other than the duellists. Star Saber was clearly ruling the impromptu arena, Megatron still unable... or unwilling to hit back. 

Then, after half a joor of intense, but still undecided fight that drew avid attention from all Mirage’s guests, and a healthy betting in the background... something changed. 

A silvery, clawed servo grabbed the slimmer black fist that was about to hit his helm and this time, Megatron didn’t let it go like before. A fast yank and a twist, a pede stepping in close to provide leverage - and Star Saber yelped in alarmed surprise as he was thrown heavily to the ground, the other pede stomping on the ground just micrometers from his helm. The swordsmech rolled, his fast reflexes serving well to save him from further damage and he could stand again a little while back... but the damage was done and his right arm stuck out in an unnatural angle, the brightly polished armour crumpled by the claws that rent it. 

His face was furious.

“You will die for this, scum!”

Optimus nearly called the thing off right there and then and the Unmaker take the slag that he would have to deal with then – but Megatron didn’t waste any time for useless banter. The last glyph hadn’t even left Star Saber’s vocalizer when he moved forward, clumsiness and slowness shed in a sparkbeat, and started to pummel the noblemech with all his considerable strength. Finesse still wasn’t in abundance in his movements, though Optimus did recognize Kup’s traning in it; but his strength, determination and cold anger more than made up for that lack of elaborate moves and made Optimus strangely hot under his armour. It was Star Saber now who had to defend himself and he was less successful in it than Megatron before. More and more the sword-fighting style that he did best proved to be less than adequate against the stronger, heavier opponent far more used to employ fists as weapons. More and more Megatron’s hits and blows and occassional kicks connected and the brightly coloured armour got dented and scratched, loosing its shine as fast as its owner lost his condescending smirk.

Optimus very nearly cheered him on aloud, stopping the enthusiastic sound only in the last nanoklik, turning it instead a wide smile under his mask. He didn’t notice how he started to follow Megatron’s moves with his own frame, only when he noticed the closest nobles’ strange glances and an understanding smirk from one of the warframes around. Then he blushed and was again glad for the mask to hide it. But the fact remained – he loved seeing Megatron beating the slag out of the conceited noblemech. It was, by this time without doubts Megatron’s match, the only question remaining was how long would Star Saber’s pride last before admitting defeat. 

Too bad that Optimus Prime’s earlier suspicion of a hidden blade proved to be true, after all.

Just when Megatron was holding the noblemech down with one arm and lifted his other for a decisive blow – soemthing small and silver flashed between them, quick as a cybercat and just as deadly... and Megatron uttered the first sound he made during the match – a pained grunt. His grip slackened on red armour, optics narrow and dimming and Star Saber threw him off easily. Energon painted the front of his armour but there was no stab wound visible, nothing to show what Star Saber used. The small blade was hidden again and he followed Megatron, who was stumbling backwards, with his bare fists again. 

“That was a foul!”

Mirage’s voice rang out in the chamber clearly before Optimus could recover from his shock and shout himself. But Star Saber didn’t care about them and continued to pummel the weakening Megatron, while the nobles around the ring started to mutter and whisper, some with disapproving glances, some clearly unfazed by what Star Saber did. Nomech moved to stop the fight though and Optimus decided that decorum to the Pits, he would have to. His spark was beating fast ever since the stabbing and he felt worry, protectiveness and some things he really shouldn’t... 

He moved into the ring to stop Star Saber, but as he did, Megatron seemed to gather his remaining strength and attacked back. He wasted no energy now for any sort of finesse or learned moves – instead he delivered three such huge punches to Star Saber’s face and helm that would have crumbled mine-walls... and the noblemech’s pretty armour stood no chance. Face and helm dented in, crushed, painted with his own energon, he couldn’t even scream before he crumpled where he stood like a sack of bolts. Megatron stood over him, vents wheezing heavily and one servo he held over the tiny wound in his abdomen, still dripping energon.

“And here I had thought...” – he coughed and spat some energon out – “...that nobles had honour.”

There were some scowles all around, but nomech answered anything reprimanding to him – after all, Megatron was right and Star Saber acted dishonorably. Optimus smirked under his mask, but he was worried about the wound. Small as it was, it had to involve something serious, to affect him so much. Though right then, Megatron tried to act like he was fine, but Optimus was having none of it. He was still highly upset and strangely hot under his armour, both something he shouldn’t feel right now and refused to name just yet.

“We’re leaving now.” He gestured to Mirage apologetically, but the blue noble just nodded and directed his servants to clean up the floor and Star Saber from it. “I’m sorry, Lord Mirage, but Megatron is apparently injured.”

As it turned out Megatron had a minor, but important energon-line cut and the relays that commanded his whole left side damaged. His self-repair had eventually routed around it, but it took time and left him weakened. Ratchet grumbled about inconveniently placed armour seams as he fixed the wound and gave some pointers as for how to renforce those weak points. Megatron appeared to be more in a shock from the medic-Senator’s language than the injury itself, which Optimus wasn’t surprised about at all; Ratchet could intimidate anymech if he felt like, easily. 

When Ratchet left, Optimus couldn’t stop himself any more. Megatron sat on the edge of the berth where Ratchet commanded him to stay and he appeared to be hesitating on something. Optimus moved closer to him and hugged the grey shoulders again. He couldn’t admit even to himself just how good that felt even the first time, and how he longed to do it again, especially with that strange hotness somwhere deep inside that watching the fight had caused... even as the shoulders stiffened under his touch and he knew he should let him go. Obviously and unfortunately... it appeared that Megatron was not at all comfortable with his touching. But as he reluctantly loosened his embrace and prepared to step away a strong, silver arm reached up and out and hesitantly, extremely cautiously... tugged him back. 

Optimus looked at Megatron with the question in his optics, on his faceplates that had no mask covering it now... and Megatron nodded, fangs worrying thin lips, red optics dimming – but he nodded and the slight, hesitant tug was there again, calling, inviting Optimus back. It was enough for the Prime to give up worrying about consent issues and labelling his own turbulent emotions. He moved closer... and closer... and closer... until they were practically fused, sitting on the berth, Optimus half in Megatron’s lap and it required no further effort to close that tiny distance between their lips and melt together in a hesitant, but quickly warming kiss. 

Optimus didn’t want the hot kiss to end any time soon or to move away from the strong embrace. But he had to. Megatron’s field was a riot of emotions, and not a small part of it was fear. Fear that he had to do something with before this thing they did - whatever it was – could continue. If it continued. 

“I... shouldn’t! It’s not... I’m sorry!”

“Sssshhh... it’s okay.”

“N-no...”

“You don’t want it?”

“I... shouldn’t want it... want you. You’re the Prime!”

Optimus was about to answer when Megatron’s optics widened with shock and he scrambled backwards, his field a mixture of fear... and anger. Optimus let him go. Reluctantly.

“Is this... is this why you had me brought here?” He looked disgusted, angry, fearful still... and tried very hard to hide it all at the same time. “Were they right... the ones with the jokes and the lewd looks... were they right? Am I to be your... whore, a lowlife buymech?”

“NO!” Optimus cried out but he moved away to give Megatron space. The moment was delicate and he must not wreck the tentative trust they started to build up so far. The berth now stretched between them with all the empty desolation of a desert. 

“Truly not! Everything I told you so far is the truth. This...” he vaguely waved between them – “...is something unexpected. I enjoy your company. I came to like you. Want you even...! There were things in the prophecy that I haven’t shared yet, but my intentions about you... are... nothing like what you said. I swear to Primus!”

“What... things...?”

Optimus invented sharply and sighed the air out loud. He couldn’t say it. Not yet... and definitely not now. Better avoid that topic and answer, allay Megatron’s fears.

“I’m sorry if I had... taken advantage of you in any way. I mean... just now. I thought you had... but nevermind. I will always respect your space, your wishes.” It nearly broke his spark to say it. When exactly had he fallen so much for Megatron, Optimus pondered for a klik while he stood up and moved away, avoiding looking at him. “If you wish the door locked or walled off it will be done.”

There was a heavy silence greeting his words, not a word or sound betraying what Megatron thought or how he would react. In the end Optimus was forced to look at him again and fight the hotness off that it caused. It was inappropriate. It was wrong. It was...

“I do not. I... strange, but I trust you... even you, Lord Optimus Prime.”

The use of his full title was telling. It highlighted the differences between them, the great rift that existed no matter how Optimus wished it did not... and how it distorted everything about consent and trust. 

“I did not... say no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Somewhere above them, in a narrow service tunnel a black and white mech groaned and put his dim visor down for a klik. His plans to find Megatron an interface ‘teacher’ had apparently just became a lot more urgent. Or, well, unnecessary, if it was delayed any longer, but that could lead to a disaster, which Jazz really wanted to avoid._


	13. Senate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ookay, so first of all, I'm sorry it took so long to continue. Real Life is a bitch sometimes, but you probably all know it.
> 
> Now, for the chapter... it's kinda long and some might find it boring, as there is no action. Only talks and politics. But they are necessary to set up things and I love them anyhow. :-)

“Okay. So. Listen. The rules: do not speak up when others can hear you. Ever. For any reason. You may only talk to The Prime and quietly or through comms so only he may hear it. Do not make any move that can be called threatening. And mind you, with your new frame even a simple raised servo can be called that. So, stay behind The Prime and mind your frame language. If you thought nobles were bad, you’ll see the Senators are far worse.”

Megatron nodded and filed away the warnings that Starscream delivered with great emphasis. His warnings were not much different from what he learned in etiquette lessons, but Starscream was far more clear with the nuances – and the consequences of breaking them. And he wanted to do right, this time even more so than before. All his public appearances so far were purely symbolic since he had no job or task, or even rank and over time he started to resent the inevitable rumours of being the Prime’s plaything. Optimus, of course saw this too and tried to dispell them – but the only real way to disprove such base rumours was to have him do something real and easily perceivable, a real task that he was suited to. Not an easy task for a former miner in the center of government.

“Optimus Prime has never been to a mining town, but he does his homework meticulously so he knows the laws and the pertinent statistics. You only have to add or clarify something if he signals you to do so. Or Ultra Magnus does.”

But finally his time has come. Megatron kept nodding as Starscream listed his warnings about what to do and what not – and he kept them in processor too, because the last thing was he wanted to embarrass the Prime by breaking any rules. Opimus would defend him anyway, but that would be even worse politically – Megatron still didn’t have the full picture of Cybertron’s political scene with all the nuances of shifting alliances and changing goals, despite of Starscream drilling him on it for endless orns, but he did understand now the dangerousness of it for Optimus. And for himself now. 

A servant appeared in the doorway and nodded to them. Starscream broke off with his last warnings, sighed sharply and waved him on.

“Well. Good luck, I suppose.”

His tone held more than a tiny bit of jealousy. If it was up to Megatron he would have let the ambitious Seeker take his place – he probably could have done a better job at it, really – but there was already a small but steadily growing urge in his own spark too, to prove himself useful. Maybe it was just hopeful processing, maybe it was that he started to believe Optimus, maybe Starscream was rubbing off of him… but he was startled to realize that he had ambition now… _ambition_ that his caste should not know about, should not feel, should not even understand.

Venting deeply to calm his nerves Megatron followed the servant through the endless corridors and when they joined the Prime’s entourage he felt something fluttering inside as Optimus threw him a wink over the smaller mecha milling around them. Then he was back to stately and serious and Megatron filed into the entourage as instructed. This part of the Palace was so far off limits to him – actually it still was when he was alone, but somemech took care of coding security so as he could pass with the Prime. When they went through the connecting sky-bridge to the Senatorial Palace, high above ground, the crystal windows showing an incredible vista of the glittering palaces around, he was in a totally new ground, literally and figuratively.

Of course there were huge ceremonial doors here too, with servants, guards and an increasing number of clerks and administrators shuffling about in their tasks among the grandiose setting. It was literally the center of government, the place most tasks of running the Empire took place and it showed. Most of the entourage has peeled off to side offices before they reached the grand doors, with only Optimus, his ceremonial guards and three other mechs, including Megatron remaining by his side. The former miner was glad to see Jazz, even though he usually regarded the small mech with a healthy ammount of wariness – but right now he was one more friendly face around to calm his nerves. The third mecha, he knew only from hearsay, as Ultra Magnus had little to do with him and vice versa, but he, too was a supporter of the Prime, so Megatron supposed he had to be okay.

Because just then, as the ornate doors swung silently open, he could do with friendly faces. Inside, sure weren’t any. The low murmur of many previously started conversations slowly died down as the Senators recognized Optimus Prime… and then they started up again with incredulous cadences as they took in his large and very obvious company. Megatron steeled himself, reinforced the practiced bland mask on his faceplates and resolutely stared straight ahead, glancing nowhere as he moved in the Prime’s wake. Their procession slowly crossed the huge chamber with its sloping tiers of seating and Megatron felt as well as heard the awakening murmur that followed them like currents would a passing aircraft, rising in noise and outrage as well. 

By the time Optimus reached his throne and took his place on it, his entourage filing in behind him, the chamber was in a complete uproar and Megatron winced inwardly at the noise level. Curiously enough, neither Optimus, nor Ultra Magnus seemed to react to it, and Jazz even had a small, sharp smile playing on his faceplates. Surely it wasn’t normal for Senators to shout and roar with such fury in the Senate Halls…?

::It is, trust me.:: Jazz commed him suddenly, like reading his thoughts ::They’re sometimes worse than drunken dockworkers squabbling on buymecha.::

Megatron could only swallow uneasily and try to follow his companions’ example in not reacting outwardly to the waves of fury going their way. It took several energon-curdling breems and the House Speaker’s repeated banging on a… shield of sorts, if he saw it well, to get the noise levels down to tolerable levels and most of the Senators back to their places. The rest, who stayed looked almost ready to climb the steps and drag him out by force. Megatron was fairly sure that it was only Optimus’s presence stopping them from that. 

“What is the meaning of this, Lord Prime!?!”

It was the most often repeated sentence and finally, after a deliberate non-answer for several breems, Optimus deigned to grace it with a reaction to the one demanding it the most determinedly. His tone, unlike all the others still shouting, was calm, formal and low, shaming those still loud in their displeasure by its very cadence. It was further reinforced by his utterly still, statuesque posture and his neutral façade over the mask. To Megatron’s deepest surprise it actually worked.

“Pray tell us what troubles you this orn, Lord Ratbat?”

The noise died down to utter stillness as most senators in the chamber strained to hear the exchange. Megatron’s audials rang with the sudden drop in noise levels and he struggled to cope with the change in attitudes. It was a level of acting… _acting?_... that he felt utterly inadequate to handle. Fortunately he didn’t need to. Optimus did… and Megatron was mightily glad for this.

“Lord Prime, we have graciously accepted your bringing… this… this _thing_ … to the Palace for whatever reason, but I must seriously object its presence amongs us, in these hallowed chambers!”

Megatron kept a tight controll over his faceplates and frame with iron will, he had never known to possess. He reminded himself that he had expected this… and worse. He could take it. He could. He must. Not that it was easy.

“I am confused by your belligerent attitude, Senator. What exactly do you oppose to so vehemently?”

“That… thing’s presence! Such a low-caste mechanism has never set a pede here! Is this a mockery of our governance, Lord Prime?”

“No, Senator, it is not.” Optimus used his height advantage over the Senator to best effect “I am unaware of any particular law forbidding Megatron’s presence here.”

“He is not a Senator! Nor will he ever be one!!!” Ratbat’s outrage was nearly breaking his smooth tone of voice. 

“I, Senator Ratbat, just like any mech in this chamber, am entitled to bring advisors to a debate, should I deem it necessary. You, yourself employ advisors from other castes too, I believe?”

Optimus Prime glanced at Ultra Magnus, who nodded curtly.

“There is no constriction on the caste of the advisors. Only competence and relevance.”

Ratbat seethed. Megatron fought not to smirk. Jazz openly enjoyed the verbal give-and-take. The Senators mostly listened to the argument with bated breaths.

“And since when is … he competent to give advice?”

The senatorial sneer was so laser-sharp, it could have dropped turbohawks in flight. Megatron has never seen faceplates distorted to this degree, but it was almost… funny? He started to grasp an understanding of what Jazz was constantly enjoying about this. After he forgot the insults.

“I do remind you, Senator, that we have a mining town’s development in our agenda. It was one of your faction in fact, who brought it to this orn’s schedule. I merely wished to employ the advice of one uniquely knowledgeable about the issue.”

Optimus’s voice was almost gentle, like a benevolent Sire admonishing his favourite creation. Megatron admired the acting he never thought Optimus would need… or could do. It was fabulous, especially compared to the noble Senator’s mindlessly prejudiced fury. 

Senator Ratbat gaped wordlessly for several kliks, almost visibly trying to find a suitable comeback to the Prime’s words. 

“What… what could he tell you, Lord Prime? He’s but a brute!”

“We will see, Senator. Maybe you don’t give much credit to lower castes, but they do live in our Empire too and see things. Some of it probably much better than ourselves from here, the Capital.”

“We have trained administrators and investigators for that, Lord Prime. Not uneducated… miners.”

“True, and we all employ that way of gathering information. But surely a unique point of view gives even more insight, wouldn’t you say?”

“The Cold Constructed are barely more than drones, Lord Prime! Their _opinion_ – if they have any at all, which they shouldn’t! - can have no consequence to us!”

“I disagree. I had ample opportunity to converse with Megatron so far and I can assure you that he is neither a drone, nor are his opinions inconsequential.”

Megatron, just like the others around realized the mistake in Optimus’s wording and he winced inwardly. It was too…

“Not a drone, ehh, Lord Prime?” Ratbat’s voice was leecherous suddenly and his sneer back to his faceplates “I think we can all guess what sort of… khmmm, _service_ he gives to your Lordship.”

“Lord Ratbat.” Optimus’s gentle airs have all but vanished and his voice turned colder than Vosian winds “I thank you for not bringing inappropriate accusations against me. Unless, of course you can back them up…?”

“Not an accusation, Lord Prime, I wouldn’t dream of it! Just an… observation as to how the _miner_ can possibly… _earn_ his keep.”

Megatron was steadily shaking more and more in disgust and had trouble keeping it inside. His dentae gnashed in an effort to contain himself. The insults were deliberate, he knew it, but the knowledge helped little to ignore them. When he curled one set of digits to a fist, Jazz commed him.

::Easy, mech, easy. He’s all talk but it’s just that… empty talk.::

::I know. But he smears Optimus Prime with it...::

::Can’t be helped. Optimus can handle him. You just keep yourself in check.::

::I know he wants me to react. I won’t give him that pleasure.::

::That’s the spirit. Keep it up.::

The silent conversation helped him to focus elsewhere than the still ongoing barbed debate between Optimus and the Senator. He couldn’t help hearing the insults, but they were sort of… toned down now and soon ended with Optimus cutting it off decisively.

“If you raise no more objections, Senator, or at least no substantial ones, then I suggest to move on to our scheduled agenda. I also must remind you that laws apply to the noble caste too, in regards to kidnapping and coercion. Although I am sure that your motives were purely… supportive of Primus’s will, I must ask you in the future to refrain from such extreme measures in execution. Senatorial seats can be lost if their holder proves unworthy of them, as you are indubitably aware of?”

Ratbat didn’t take defeat gracefully, even Megatron could see it, but given that he had just received a clear warning from the Prime, he wasn’t surprised by the glower. The huge chamber was listening in eager silence. 

“You wouldn’t dare…”

Optimus Prime spoke over Ratbat’s hissed words, dismissing him entirely.

“I now declare this Senate session open. I ask our House Speaker to proceed with the orn’s agenda.”

When Ratbat didn’t move fast enough, Ultra Magnus stepped down from behind Optimus and politely gestured the smaller noblemech towards his faction’s seating area – and made sure with his bulk that he actually moved too. Megatron now had to fight not to smirk openly and he saw Jazz having no such worries. The small mech was grinning audial to audial – and though it was honest mirth, there was still a dangerous edge in his smile. Megatron shrugged – inwardly of course – the secret service mech could afford to grin whenever he pleased, even in the midst of the Senate amongst mecha who all outranked him caste-wise. Maybe one orn he, too could have that sort of confidence….

Megatron tried to follow the topics and debates, he truly did. But the wording was such a convoluted and formal one, he had to look up some word or expression in his internal reference file in every sentence and it made him fall behind more and more… until he lost the thread completely as to who was arguing for or against the proposal and on what grounds. Not that it mattered much to him, as it was something about the priestly duties of the second tier clergy, but he wanted to follow and maybe make… or rather show himself useful. 

But he couldn’t. Mecha after mecha took the speaker’s podium, Optimus interjected his opinion at some points – he alone seemed to be free of the restrictions that governed speaking in the chamber – and at odd intervals a vote was taken with its results shown on an overhelm display. At the end he wasn’t sure who won – or if winning was even an applicable expression this time at all – and what recommendation the Senate put forward for Optimus to sign. He was rather proud that he understood that it was a simple recommendation, not a regulation or law, which would have required a different process and a larger majority. This, he clearly rememberd from Starscream’s lessons.

The Senators moved around the chamber itself, even during the speeches, sometimes leaving the Senate Hall altogether and they didn’t seem to be particularly respectful for the other speakers or their opinions. Jeering and interjections were commonplace and both the Speaker and Optimus had to call order on several occassions. Megatron couldn’t accurately judge the level of the arguments yet, but the nobles’ behaviour appeared little better than miners arguing in a pub about who was winning the razorball tournament and on what merit. By the end of the second debate he could tell apart the factions at least and spotted the few mecha at the back who were clearly not nobles. 

“And now Lord Tyrion’s proposal about relocating the energon mining operations in the Suraya Quarter. The Lord and owner of business in the sector claims that it is of Cybertron’s interest, therefore the State should provide the funds. The attached documents are in the file sent to all Senators and aides. I open the floor for those wishing to speak about the matter, starting with Lord Tyrion introducing the bill.”

Megatron perked up hearing the subject. He hurriedly located the file and opened it, hoping to make more sense of it than the previous topic. He was lucky that the Senator submitting the document was not a particularly old one, and his wording was more or less comprehensible even for him. He read the document and his spark sank. It was not so much a relocation than a replacement of the Suraya miners with automated mining equipment. It would mean writing off nearly a thousand miners who would have little chance of finding employment again and survive for long.

“Lord Prime, Lord Speaker, My Lords. My proposal is simple. The energon mines of Suraya, as they exist now are running out. The quality of the mined energon crystals is low and it is full of impurities. The shafts are dug too deep and prone to cave-ins, while energon explosions are commonplace. But there is energon still in the Suraya mountains, only it is more effectively accessible from the south side, where we could use automated mining equipment. It would provide the level of energon…”

“Hold on a klik, Lord Tyrion.” Another Senator stood up in the middle of the tiers “Why would we concern ourselves with your mine? Should I bring the problem of my paint factory to the Senate too every time I run into difficulties?”

“The House Speaker accepted my proposal in the agenda, Senator Steadfast. Energon production is a bit more important to Cybertron than… paint.”

“Order, Senators! Lord Tyrion has the floor!”

The bill was read out and Lord Tyrion expounding on its importance endlessly. Megatron hesitated. Should he say something to Optimus or should he wait for…

::Is there anything I don’t see here, Megatron?::

But he recovered fast when he was outright asked through his comm.

::Lord Prime… Optimus… it’s not the relocation but the automation. He will fire all miners in that mine. I saw it happen near us as well. All else is to hide that fact.::

::Also the machinery that replaces them is accidentally coming from Ratbat’s drone factories.:: Jazz added to the silent conversation.

::what happens to miners fired in such way? Are they reassigned somewhere else…?::

::No. They are written off. In Tarn most became beggars, buymecha or deactivate shortly. No need for cast off miners any more. New mines are always opened with miners specifically constructed to operate there and only there::

::Remind me of that later please. Now, stop. He’s finishing.::

Megatron straightened up with mixed feelings. Would Optimus intervene… could he? As far as he saw most factions were either in favour of the proposal or uninterested.

“Lord Tyrion, a klik of your time, if I may?”

“Of course Lord Prime!” The Senator bowed elaborately towards Optimus Prime.

“Your proposal seems to miss the required servey data from the Suraya mines. Though I am sure this is only a minor oversight, I’d still like to see it added.”

Optimus’s voice was polite, but sounded disinterested, like he injected his comment purely on administrative grounds. The Senator stared at him for a nanoklik, but recovered quickly and answered.

“B-but… the bill have an overview of the energon strata…”

“The proposal should have an addendum with the original survey data, Lord Tyrion.” Ultra Magnus interjected. 

“I’m sure you understand, Senator? Proposals should be in order.”

Megatron frowned slightly. Were they going to be arguing on petty points instead of the main issue? He glanced at Optimus again, but the Prime sat serenly on his throne and appeared unconcerned, some might even say he exuded a faintly bored air. The rest of the Senate was similarly disinterested in the proceedings as well, seeing that no debate was forthcoming, only administrative squabbles. Some Senators even left the chambers as the session was approaching the midday fuelling break, including Lord Ratbat. His followers started to disperse as well, only the upper tier Senators remaining in place.

“I… don’t have the survey data on me, Lord Prime. But surely you can accept my word…”

“No, we really cannot debate on an incomplete proposal, Lord Tyrion. And I’m afraid we do not have an empty slot again on our agenda for this topic, for quite some time…?” Optimus Prime glanced at Ultra Magnus questioningly.

“Next vorn perhaps.” The deep rumble sounded almost gleeful.

“B-but… but that’s far too late! I…I must start the relocation, I… we must vote this now!”

“Senator, I am fairly sure that energon mines don’t run out of crystals overnight. We can wait for the survey to be able to decide on this matter.”

Megatron saw the Senator become nervous and cast furtive glances towards one side of the chamber… where only a few Senators remained and they looked similarly unsure of what to do as himself. 

“But… if you want to speed up matters, Senator, I might have a suggestion for you, a solution perhaps…?”

The Senator cast another helpless glance at Ratbat’s empty seating and turned back. He nodded to Optimus Prime and acquiesced.

“I… would like that.”

“I am sending a specialist group to do that survey as soon as it can be assembled.” The Senator’s optics widened and involuntarily flickered to Megatron and narrowed as he suddenly understood how he had lost “They will do the survey and I will introduce the bill as necessary. With your… agreement, of course.”

It was clear that without the backing of his faction and Ratbat, the Senator didn’t dare to contradict the Prime. He gaped again, babbled a few unintelligible words, looked around helplessly… but Optimus just gazed at him calmly and the noblemech slowly crumbled under the weight of that serene gaze. Megatron steeled his look and façade, not wanting to react now any more than he did before at the insults. He knew he would be in that committee even without being told. He knew that the Senator knew it too. 

“As… you wish… Lord Prime. I shall… make preparations to receive the committee…”

“No need, Lord Tryion. They will not trouble your workers or mining operations and they will be there before you could warn them.”

The Senator nodded mutely and shuffled back to his seat. He tried to keep his composure but he still looked defeated and those remaining in the chamber looked at him mostly with disdain. The House Speaker glanced at the Prime and at his slight nod proceeded to announce the midday break.

Megatron walked out behind the Prime as the full retinue again swooped around them outside the chamber. 

“Jazz, Megatron, I will send both of you.” Optimus didn’t whisper but his voice didn’t carry either “Gather specialists too. Megatron, you look up the rights and privileges of special envoys, as that will be your position for the trip. Magnus, make a plan for this survey so that afterwards we can use it to tour all other mines. Tyrion gave us the pretext, let’s use it for full. You must leave in a few orns at most.”

“Yup, we don’t wanna let him warn his managers and make evidence disappear.” Jazz was chipper as usual, but his smirk had a hard edge too. “But even if they do, I’ll still find it.”

“I trust you to do that. Megatron… I’m not sure what you can do, but I trust you to find that out. I want information, data and evidence if I am to reform the mining sector. It clearly needs to be changed.”

Megatron’s optics flashed at that and his spark spun faster suddenly. He swore not to be useless. He wanted to help Optimus. Help his fellow miners if he could. Help Cybertron…? He poked that concept but it was still way too big for him to comprehend.

“I… know a mech very good at collecting data.”

They all looked at him a bit surprised.

“Who?”

“His designation is Soundwave. Communications technician in the Palace… but he knows a lot of interesting things and has interesting ways of obtaining them.”

“Jazz?”

Jazz's optics flickered as he accessed data fast on the fly. He shrugged as he spoke up a few kliks later.

“As Megatron said. Not much to distinguish. Mech is a steady worker, no more. Loyal and trustworthy if he works in communications.”

“Well… if you think he can help… include him too.”

“I’d take Starscream too. He can help Megatron and also has a scientific background. Might even spot things from air that we wouldn’t.”

“Jazz, pick all mechs you want by next orn and wait for Magnus to finalize the survey plan.”

“We’ll be ready before him.” There was a flash of a competitive grin towards Ultra Magnus, who only shrugged and the company slowly made their way down the corridor.

“Megatron, would you accompany me tonight? I wish to learn more about the mines that is not data and only you can tell.”

“Of course, Lord Prime.”

So what if his vents spun a bit faster. Since that first… kiss, things became electric when they were together. Nothing more happened yet, but it was always there, in the air… but he was still not fully believing how and why _The Prime_ would want him… that way. But every private talk chipped away a tiny bit of that hesitation and brought them closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, Lord Tyrion's name had nothing to do with GoT Tyrion. I was just simply throwing around designations for minor OCs and decided that not all should have a meaning. I tried out meaningless names how they sounded and settled with this. Only much later have I realized where it must have come from.


End file.
